\ 


MR.   INCOUL'S 
MISADVENTURE 


HY    THE   SAME   AUTHOR: 

THE  PHILOSOPHY   OF  DISEN 
CHANTMENT. 
Crown  8vo. 

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as  satirical,  as  interesting  and  as  insolent  to  humanity  in 
general  as  are  his  great  teachers,  Schopenhauer  and  Von 
Hartmann." —  Worcester  Spy. 


THE  ANATOMY  OF  NEGATION. 
Crown  8vo. 

"A  whole  library  of  pessimism  compressed  into  one 
small  volume  by  a  writer  whose  understanding  of  the  value 
of  words  amounts  almost  to  genius." — Chicago  Herald. 

"  The  work  is  remarkable  in  every  way  and  its  originality 
and  power  will  compel  for  it  more  than  an  ephemeral  ex 
istence,  for  independently  of  the  force  with  which  it  deals 
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reflections  are  those  of  a  bold,  brilliant  and  able  thinker." 
— Boston  Saturday  Review. 


IN    PREPARATION, 

CIMMERIA. 


M 


R.  INCOUL/S 

MISADVENTURE 


A    NOVEL 

nv 

EDGAR    SALTUS 


And  thine  eye  shall  not  pity. 

Dtttttronomy,  XIX.  31. 


S3 


M  W    YORK 

BENJAMIN    cS:    BELL 

M     DCO      I.XXXVIl 


Copyright,  1887,  by  EDGAR  SALTUS 


GILLI88    BROTHERS   A    TURNURE 

THE    ART   AGE    PRCS8 
400   A   402   WEST    14TH    STREET,   N.   V. 


sr 


IX) 

K.  A.  S. 


(  <  >NTENTS. 

CHAP  11.  K.  ,At>K 

I.  Mr.  Incoul, n 

II.  Miss  Barhyte  Agrees  to  Change 

her  Name, 18 

III.  After  Darkness, 30 

IV.  An  Evening  Call, 42 

V.  A  Yellow  Envelope,      .     .     .     .     51 

VI.  Biarritz, 68 

VII.  What  may  be  Seen  from  a  Palco,     84 

VIII.  An  Unexpected  Guest,      .     .     .   101 

IX.  Mr.  Incoul  Dines  in  Spain,    .     .114 

X.  The  Point  of  View, 127 

XI.  The  House  in  the  Pare  Monceau,  138 

XII.  Mr.  Incoul  is  Preoccupied,    .     .   146 

XIII.  What  may  be  Heard  in  a  Green 

room,  155 

XIV.  Karl  Grows  a  Moustache,      .     .   163 
XV.  May  Expostulates, 178 

XVI.  The  Bare  Bodkin, 188 

XVII.  Maida's  Nuptials, 202 

XVIII.  Mr.  Incoul  Goes  over   the  Ac 
counts,     .211 


CHAPTER  I. 

MR.    1NCOUL. 

*\  I  T  HEN  Harmon  Incoul's  wife  died,  the 
*  *  world  in  which  he  lived  said  that  he 
would  not  marry  again.  The  bereavement 
which  he  had  suffered  was  known  to  be  bitter, 
and  it  was  reported  that  he  might  betake  him 
self  to  some  foreign  land.  There  was,  for  that 
matter,  nothing  to  keep  him  at  home.  He  was 
childless,  his  tastes  were  too  simple  to  make 
it  necessary  for  him  to  reside  as  he  had, 
hitherto,  in  New  York,  and,  moreover,  he 
was  a  man  whose  wealth  was  proverbial. 
Had  he  so  chosen,  he  had  little  else  to  do 
than  to  purchase  a  ticket  and  journey  where 
soever  he  listed,  and  the  knowledge  of  this 
ability  may  have  been  to  him  not  without  its 
consolations.  Yet,  if  he  attempted  to  map 
some  plan,  and  think  which  spot  he  would 
prefer,  he  probably  reflected  that  whatever 
place  he  might  choose,  he  would,  in  the  end, 
be  not  unlike  the  invalid  who  turns  over  in 
his  bed,  and  then  turns  back  again  on  find- 


12       MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MIS  A  D  VEN  T  URE. 

ing  the  second  position  no  better  than  the 
first.  However  fair  another  sky  might  be,  it 
would  not  make  his  sorrow  less  acute. 

He  was  then  one  of  those  men  whose  age 
is  difficult  to  determine.  He  had  married 
when  quite  young,  and  at  the  time  of  his 
widowerhood  he  must  have  been  nearly 
forty,  but  years  had  treated  him  kindly. 
His  hair,  it  is  true,  was  inclined  to  scanti 
ness,  and  his  skin  was  etiolated,  but  he  was 
not  stout,  his  teeth  were  sound,  he  held  him 
self  well,  and  his  eyes  had  not  lost  their 
lustre.  At  a  distance,  one  might  have 
thought  him  in  the  thirties,  but  in  conversa 
tion  his  speech  was  so  measured,  and  about 
his  lips  there  was  a  compression  such  that 
the  ordinary  observer  fancied  him  older  than 
he  really  was. 

His  position  was  unexceptionable.  He 
had  inherited  a  mile  of  real  estate  in  a  popu 
lous  part  of  New  York,  together  with  an  ac 
cumulation  of  securities  sufficient  for  the  pay 
and  maintenance  of  a  small  army.  The 
foundations  of  this  wealth  had  been  laid  by 
an  ancestor,  materially  increased  by  his 
grandfather,  and  consolidated  by  his  father, 
who  had  married  a  Miss  Van  Tromp,  the 
ultimate  descendant  of  the  Dutch  admiral. 

His  boyhood  had   not  been   happy.     His 


.  fNCOU/'s  MISADVENTURE.       fj 

father  had  been  a  lean,  taciturn,  unlovable 
man,  rigid  in  principles,  stern  in  manner, 
and  unyielding  in  his  adherence  to  the  nar 
rowest  tenets  of  Presbyterianism.  His 
mother  had  died  while  he  was  yet  in  the 
nursery,  and,  in  the  absence  of  any  softening 
influence,  the  angles  of  his  earliest  nature 
were  left  in  the  rough. 

At  school,  he  manifested  a  vindictiveness 
of  disposition  which  made  him  feared  and 
disliked.  One  day,  a  comrade  raised  the  lid 
of  a  desk  adjoining  his  own.  The  raising  of 
the  lid  was  abrupt  and  possibly  intentional. 
It  jarred  him  in  a  task.  The  boy  was  dragged 
from  him  senseless  and  bleeding.  In  college, 
he  became  aggrieved  at  a  tutor.  For  three 
weeks  he  had  him  shadowed,  then,  having 
discovered  an  irregularity  in  his  private  life, 
he  caused  to  be  laid  before  the  faculty  suffi 
cient  evidence  to  insure  his  removal.  Mean 
while,  acting  presumably  on  the  principle  that 
an  avowed  hatred  is  powerless,  he  treated  the 
tutor  as  though  the  grievance  had  been  for 
gotten.  A  little  later,  owing  to  some  act  of 
riotous  insubordination,  he  was  himself  ex- 
pelled,  and  the  expulsion  seemed  to  have 
done  him  good.  He  went  to  Paris  and 
listened  decorously  to  lectures  at  the  Sor- 
bmme,  after  which  he  strayed  to  Heidelberg, 


14       MR.  IN  CO  UL  S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

where  he  sat  out  five  semesters  without  fight 
ing  a  duel  or  making  himself  ill  with  beer.  In 
his  fourth  summer  abroad,  he  met  the  young 
lady  who  became  his  wife.  His  father  died, 
he  returned  to  New  York,  and  thereafter  led 
a  model  existence. 

He  was  proud  of  his  wife  and  indulgent  to 
her  every  wish.  During  the  years  that  they 
lived  together,  there  was  no  sign  or  rumor  of 
the  slightest  disagreement.  She  was  of  a 
sweet  and  benevolent  disposition,  and  though 
beyond  a  furtive  coin  he  gave  little  to  the 
poor,  he  encouraged  her  to  donate  liberally 
to  the  charities  which  she  was  solicited  to  as 
sist.  She  was  a  woman  with  a  quick  sense  of 
the  beautiful,  and  in  spite  of  the  simplicity  of 
his  own  tastes,  he  had  a  house  on  Madison 
avenue  rebuilt  and  furnished  in  such  a  fashion 
that  it  was  pointed  out  to  strangers  as  one  of 
the  chief  palaces  of  the  city.  She  liked, 
moreover,  to  have  her  friends  about  her,  and 
while  he  cared  as  much  for  society  as  he  did 
for  the  negro  minstrels,  he  insisted  that  she 
should  give  entertainments  and  fill  the  house 
with  guests.  In  the  winter  succeeding  the 
fifteenth  anniversary  of  their  marriage,  Mrs. 
Incoul  caught  a  chill,  took  to  her  bed  and 
died,  forty-eight  hours  later,  of  pneumonia. 

It  was  then  that  the  world  said  that  he 


MR.  INCOUL'S  J/AV,/ />/•/..  V  TV  ^Y-:.        fj 

would  not  marry  again.  For  two  years  he 
gave  the  world  no  reason  to  say  otherwise, 
and  for  two  years  time  hung  heavy  on  his 
hands.  He  was  an  excellent  chess-player, 
and  interested  in  archaeological  pursuits,  but 
beyond  that  his  resources  were  limited.  He 
was  too  energetic  to  be  a  dilettante,  he  had 
no  taste  for  horseflesh,  the  game  of  specula 
tion  did  not  interest  him,  and  his  artistic 
tendencies  were  few.  Now  and  then,  a  Mr. 
Blydenburg,  a  florid,  talkative  man,  a  widower 
like  himself,  came  to  him  of  an  evening,  and 
the  chess-board  was  prepared.  But  practi 
cally  his  life  was  one  of  solitude,  and  the 
solitude  grew  irksome  to  him. 

Meanwhile  his  wound  healed  as  wounds 
do.  The  cicatrix  perhaps  was  ineffaceable, 
but  at  least  the  smart  had  subsided,  and  in 
its  subsidence  he  found  that  the  great  house 
in  which  he  lived  had  taken  on  the  silence  of 
a  tomb  Soon  he  began  to  go  out  a  little. 
He  was  seen  at  meetings  of  the  Archaeological 
Society  and  of  an  afternoon  he  was  visible  in 
the  Park.  He  even  attended  a  reception 
given  to  an  English  thinker,  and  one  night 
applauded  Salvini. 

At  first  he  went  about  with  something  of 
that  uncertainty  \vl.i  h  visits  one  who  passes 
from  a  dark  room  to  a  bright  one,  but  in  a 


16       MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

little  while  his  early  constraint  fell  from  him, 
and  he  found  that  he  could  mingle  again  with 
his  fellows. 

At  some  entertainment  he  met  a  delicious 
young  girl,  Miss  Maida  Barhyte  by  name, 
whom  for  the  moment  he  admired  imperson 
ally,  as  he  might  have  admired  a  flower,  and 
until  he  saw  her  again,  forgot  her  very  exist 
ence.  It  so  happened,  however,  that  he  saw 
her  frequently.  One  evening  he  sat  next  to 
her  at  a  dinner  and  learning  from  her  that 
she  was  to  be  present  at  a  certain  reception, 
made  a  point  of  being  present  himself. 

This  reception  was  given  by  Mrs.  Bachelor, 
a  lady,  well  known  in  society,  who  kept  an 
unrevised  list,  and  at  stated  intervals  issued 
invitations  to  the  dead,  divorced  and  de 
faulted.  When  she  threw  her  house  open, 
she  liked  to  have  it  filled,  and  to  her  dis 
credit  it  must  be  said  that  in  that  she  invari 
ably  succeeded.  On  the  evening  that  Mr. 
Incoul  crossed  her  vestibule,  he  was  met 
by  a  hum  of  voices,  broken  by  the  rhythm 
of  a  waltz.  The  air  was  heavy,  and  in  the 
hall  was  a  smell  of  flowers  and  of  food.  The 
rooms  were  crowded.  His  friend  Blyden- 
burg  was  present  and  with  him  his  daughter. 
The  Wainwarings,  whom  he  had  always 
known,  were  also  there,  and  there  were  other 


MR.  INCOUL1  S  MISADVENTURE.       I? 

people  by  whom  he  had  not  been  forgotten, 
and  with  whom  he  exchanged  a  word,  but  for 
Miss  Barhyte  he  looked  at  first  in  vain. 

He  would  have  gone,  a  crowd  was  as  irk 
some  to  him  as  solitude,  but  in  passing  an 
outer  room  elaborately  supplied  with  paint 
ings  and  bric-a-brac,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  girl  talking  with  a  young  man  whom  he 
vaguely  remembered  to  have  seen  in  earlier 
(1  ivs  at  his  own  home. 

He  walked  in:  Miss  Barhyte  greeted  him 
as  an  old  friend  :  there  were  other  people 
near  her,  and  the  young  man  with  whom  she 
had  been  talking  turned  and  joined  them, 
and  presently  passed  with  them  into  another 
room. 

Mr.  Incoul  found  a  seat  beside  the  girl, 
and,  after  a  little  unimportant  conversation 
asked  her  a  question  at  which  she  started. 
But  Mr.  Incoul  was  not  in  haste  for  an  an 
swer,  he  told  her  that  with  her  permission,  he 
would  do  himself  the  honor  of  calling  on  her 
later,  and,  as  the  room  was  then  invaded  by 
some  of  her  friends,  he  left  her  to  them,  and 
went  his  way. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MISS     BARHYTE    AGREES    TO    CHANGE    HER 
NAME. 

A  DAY  or  two  after  Mrs.  Bachelor's  re- 
*•*•  ception,  Mr.  Incoul  walked  down  Mad 
ison  avenue,  turned  into  one  of  the  adjacent 
streets  and  rang  the  bell  of  a  private  board 
ing-house. 

As  he  stood  on  the  steps  waiting  for  the 
door  to  be  opened,  a  butcher-boy  passed, 
whistling  shrilly.  Across  the  way  a  nurse 
maid  was  idling  with  a  perambulator,  a 
slim-figured  girl  hurried  by,  a  well-dressed 
woman  descended  from  a  carriage  and  a 
young  man  with  a  flower  in  his  button-hole 
issued  from  a  neighboring  house.  The 
nurse-maid  stayed  the  perambulator  and 
scrutinized  the  folds  of  the  woman's  gown  ; 
the  young  man  eyed  the  hurrying  girl  ;  from 
the  end  of  the  street  came  the  whistle  of  the 
retreating  butcher,  and  as  it  fused  into  the 
rumble  of  Fifth  avenue,  Mr.  Incoul  heard 
the  door  opening  behind  him. 


.I/A'.  INCOUL' S  MISADVENTURE.       19 

"Is  Miss  Barhytc  at  home  ?"  he  asked. 

The  servant,  a  negro,  answered  that  she 
was. 

"Then  be  good  enough,"  said  Mr.  Incoul, 
"  to  take  her  this  card." 

The  drawing-room,  long  and  narrow,  as  is 
usual  in  many  New  York  houses,  was  fur 
nished  in  that  fashion  which  is  suggestive  of 
a  sheriff's  sale,  and  best  calculated  to  jar  the 
nerves.  Mr.  Incoul  did  not  wince.  He  gave 
the  appointments  one  cursory,  reluctant 
glance,  and  then  went  to  the  window.  Across 
the  way  the  nurse-maid  still  idled,  the  young 
man  with  a  flower  was  drawing  on  a  red 
glove,  stitched  with  black,  and  as  he  looked 
out  at  them  he  heard  a  rustle,  and  turning, 
saw  Miss  Barhyte. 

"  I  have  come  for  an  answer,"  he  said 
simply. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  answered, 
"  very  glad  ;  I  have  thought  much  about  what 
you  said." 

"  Favorably,  I  hope." 

"  That  must  depend  on  you."  She  went  to 
a  bell  and  touched  it.  "Archibald, "she  said, 
when  the  negro  appeared,  "  I  am  out.  If 
any  visitors  come  take  them  into  the  other 
room.  Should  any  one  want  to  come  in  here 
before  I  ring,  say  the  parlor  is  being  swept." 


20       MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

The  man  bowed  and  withdrew.  He  would 
have  stood  on  his  head  for  her.  There  were 
few  servants  that  she  did  not  affect  in  much 
the  same  manner.  She  seemed  to  win  will 
ingness  naturally. 

She  seated  herself  on  a  sofa,  and  opposite 
to  her  Mr.  Incoul  found  a  chair.  Her  dress 
he  noticed  was  of  some  dark  material,  tailor- 
made,  and  unrelieved  save  by  a  high  white 
collar  and  the  momentary  glisten  of  a  button. 
The  cut  and  sobriety  of  her  costume  made 
her  look  like  a  handsome  boy,  a  young  Olym 
pian  as  it  were,  one  who  had  strayed  from 
the  games  and  been  arrayed  in  modern  guise. 
Indeed,  her  features  suggested  that  combina 
tion  of  beauty  and  sensitiveness  which  was 
peculiar  to  the  Greek  lad,  but  her  eyes  were 
not  dark — they  were  the  blue  victorious  eyes 
of  the  Norseman — and  her  hair  was  red,  the 
red  of  old  gold,  that  red  which  partakes  both 
of  orange  and  of  flame. 

"I  hope — "  Mr.  Incoul  began,  but  she 
interrupted  him. 

"  Wait,"  she  said,  "  I  have  much  to  tell  you 
of  which  the  telling  is  difficult.  Will  you 
bear  with  me  a  moment  ?" 

"  Surely,"  he  answered. 

"  It  is  this  :  It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  I 
esteem  you ;  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  say 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       21 

that  I  respect  you,  but  it  is  because  I  do  both 
that  I  fed  I  may  speak  frankly.  My  mother 
wishes  me  to  marry  you,  but  I  do  not.  Let 
me  tell  you,  first,  that  when  my  father  died 
he  left  very  little,  but  the  little  that  he  left 
seems  to  have  disappeared,  I  do  not  know 
how  or  where.  I  know  merely  that  we 
have  next  to  nothing,  and  that  we  are  in 
debt  beside.  Something,  of  course,  has 
had  to  be  done.  I  have  found  a  position. 
Where  do  you  suppose  ?"  she  asked,  with 
a  sudden  smile  and  a  complete  change  of 
key. 

But  Mr.  Incoul  had  no  surmises. 

"In  San  Francisco!  The  MacDermotts, 
you  know,  the  Bonanza  people,  want  me  to 
return  with  them  and  teach  their  daughter 
how  to  hold  herself,  and  what  not  to  say.  It 
has  been  arranged  that  I  am  to  go  next  week. 
Since  the  other  night,  however,  my  mother 
has  told  me  to  give  up  the  MacDermotts  and 
accept  your  offer.  But  that,  of  course,  I 
cannot  do." 

"And  why  not?" 

To  this  Miss  Barhyte  made  no  answer. 

"  You  do  not  care  for  me,  I  know  ;  there  is 
slight  reason  why  you  should.  Yet,  might 
you  not,  perhaps,  in  time  ?" 

The    girl    raised    her    eyebrows    ever  so 


22       MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

slightly.  "So  you  see,"  she  continued,  "I 
shall  have  to  go  to  San  Francisco." 

Mr.  Incoul  remained  silent  a  moment. 
"If,"  he  said,  at  last,  "if  you  will  do  me  the 
honor  to  become  my  wife,  in  time  you  will 
care.  It  is  painful  for  me  to  think  of  you 
accepting  a  position  which  at  best  is  but  a 
shade  better  than  that  of  a  servant,  particu 
larly  so  when  I  am  able — nay,  anxious,"  he 
added,  pensively — "to  surround  you  with 
everything  which  can  make  life  pleasant.  I 
am  not  old,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "at  least  not 
so  old  that  a  marriage  between  us  should 
seem  incongruous.  I  find  that  I  am  sin 
cerely  attached  to  you — unselfishly,  perhaps, 
would  be  the  better  word — and,  if  the 
privilege  could  be  mine,  the  endeavor  to 
make  you  happy  would  be  to  me  more  grate 
ful  than  a  second  youth.  Can  you  not  accept 
me?" 

He  had  been  speaking  less  to  her  than  to 
the  hat  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  The 
phrases  had  come  from  him  haltingly,  one  by 
one,  as  though  he  had  sought  to  weigh  each 
mentally  before  dowering  it  with  the  wings  of 
utterance,  but,  as  he  addressed  this  question 
he  looked  up  at  her.  "  Can  you  not  ?"  he  re 
peated. 

Miss  Barhyte  raised  a  handkerchief  to  her 


.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.        2J 

lips  and  bit  the  shred  of  cambric  with  the 
Jisinvoltura  of  an  heiress. 

"Why  is  it,"  she  queried,  "why  is  it  that 
marriage  ever  was  invented  ?  Why  cannot  a 
girl  accept  help  from  a  man  without  becom 
ing  his  wife  ?" 

Mr.  Incoul  was  about  to  reply  that  many 
do,  but  he  felt  that  such  a  reply  would  be 
misplaced,  and  he  called  a  platitude  to  his 
rescue.  "  There  are  wives  and  wives,"  he  said. 

"That  is  it,"  the  girl  returned,  the  color 
mounting  to  her  cheeks  ;  "  if  I  could  but  be  to 
you  one  of  the  latter." 

He  stared  at  her  wonderingly,  almost  hope 
fully.  "  What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  '  Eugenie  Grandet'  ?" 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  never  have." 

"  Well,  I  read  it  years  ago.  It  is,  I  believe, 
the  only  one  of  Balzac's  novels  that  young 
girls  are  supposed  to  read.  It  is  tiresome  in 
deed  ;  I  had  almost  forgotten  it,  but  yester 
day  I  remembered  enough  of  the  story  to 
help  me  to  come  to  some  decision.  In  think 
ing  the  matter  over  and  over  again  as  I  have 
done  ever  since  I  last  saw  you  it  has  seemed 
that  I  could  not  become  your  wife  unless  you 
were  willing  to  make  the  same  agreement 
with  me  that  Eugenie  Grandet's  husband 
made  with  her." 


24       MR-  INCOUL  S  MISAD  VENTURE. 

"  What  was  the  nature  of  that  agreement  ?" 

"  It  was  that,  though  married,  they  were  to 
live  as  though  they  were  not  married— as 
might  brother  and  sister." 

"  Always  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"No,"  Mr.  Incoul  answered,  "to  such 
an  agreement  I  could  not  consent.  Did 
I  do  so,  I  would  be  untrue  to  myself, 
unmanly  to  you.  But  if  you  will  give  me 
the  right  to  aid  you  and  yours,  I  will- 
according  to  my  lights — leave  nothing  un 
done  to  make  you  contented  ;  and  if  I  suc 
ceed  in  so  doing,  if  you  are  happy,  then  the 
agreement  which  you  have  suggested  would 
fall  of  itself.  Would  it  not  ? "  he  continued. 
"Would  it  not  be  baseless?  See—  he 
added,  and  he  made  a  vague  gesture,  but 
before  he  could  finish  the  phrase,  the  girl's 
hands  were  before  her  face  and  he  knew  that 
she  was  weeping. 

Mr.  Incoul  was  not  tender-hearted.  He 
felt  toward  Miss  Barhyte  as  were  she  some 
poem  in  flesh  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  make 
his  own.  In  her  carriage  as  in  her  looks,  he 
had  seen  that  stamp  of  breeding  which  is 
coercive  even  to  the  dissolute.  In  her  eyes 
he  had  discerned  that  promise  of  delight 
which  it  is  said  the  lost  goddesses  could  con- 


MR.  IVCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       *5 

vey  ;  and  at  whose  conveyance,  the  legend 
says,  the  minds  of  men  were  enraptured.  It 
was  in  this  wise  that  he  felt  to  her.  Such 
exhilaration  as  she  may  have  brought  him 
was  of  the  spirit,  and  being  cold  by  nature  and 
undemonstrative,  her  tears  annoyed  him.  He 
would  have  had  her  impassive,  as  befitted  her 
beauty.  Beside,  he  was  annoyed  at  his  own 
attitude.  Why  should  there  be  sorrow  where 
he  had  sought  to  bring  smiles  ?  But  he  had 
barely  time  to  formulate  his  annoyance  into 
a  thing  even  as  volatile  as  thought — the 
girl  had  risen  and  was  leaving  the  room. 

As  she  moved  to  the  door  Mr.  Incoul  has 
tened  to  open  it  for  her,  but  she  reached  it 
before  him  and  passed  out  unassisted. 

When  she  had  gone  he  noticed  that  the 
run  was  setting  and  that  the  room  was  even 
more  hideous  than  before.  He  went  again 
to  the  window  wondering  how  to  act. 
The  entire  scene  was  a  surprise  to  him.  He 
had  come  knowing  nothing  of  the  girl's  cir 
cumstances,  and  suddenly  he  learned  that 
she  was  in  indigence,  unable  perhaps  to  pay 
her  board  bills  and  worried  by  small  trades 
men.  He  had  come  prepared  to  be  refused 
and  she  had  almost  accepted  him.  ]>ut  what 
an  acceptance  !  In  the  nature  of  it  his 
thoughts  roamed  curiously  :  he  was  to  be  a 


26       MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

little  more  than  kin,  a  little  less  than  kind. 
She  would  accept  him  as  a  husband  for  out- 
of-door  purposes,  for  the  world's  sake  she 
would  bear  his  name — at  arm's  length.  Ac 
cording  to  the  terms  of  her  proposition  were 
she  ever  really  his  wife  it  would  be  tantamount 
to  a  seduction.  He  was  to  be  with  her,  and 
yet,  until  she  so  willed  it,  unable  to  call  her 
his  own.  And  did  he  refuse  these  terms,  she 
was  off,  no  one  knew  whither.  But  he  had 
not  refused,  he  told  himself,  he  had  indeed 
not  refused,  he  had  merely  suggested  an 
amendment  which  turned  an  impossibility 
into  an  allurement.  What  pleasanter  thing 
could  there  be  than  the  winning  of  one's  own 
wife  ?  The  idea  was  so  novel  it  delighted 
him.  For  the  moment  he  preferred  it  to 
any  other  ;  beside  it  his  former  experience 
seemed  humdrum  indeed.  But  why  had 
she  wept?  Her  reasons,  however,  he  had 
then  no  chance  to  elucidate.  Miss  Barhyte 
returned  as  abruptly  as  she  had  departed. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  advancing  to 
where  he  stood,  "  it  was  stupid  of  me  to  act 
as  I  did.  I  am  sorry — are  we  still  friends?" 
Her  eyes  were  clear  as  had  she  never  wept, 
but  there  were  circles  about  them,  and  her 
face  was  colorless. 

"Friends,"  he  answered,  "yes,  and  more — " 


MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MIS  A  D  VEN  TURE.       27 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  hastily 
added,  "  It  is  agreed,  then,  is  it  not,  you  will 
be  my  wife  ?" 

"  I  will  be  your  wife  ?" 

"As  Balzac's  heroine  was  to  her  husband?" 

"You  have  said  it." 

"But  not  always.  If  there  come  a  time 
when  you  care  for  me,  then  I  may  ask  you  to 
give  me  your  heart  as  to-day  I  have  asked 
for  your  hand  ?" 

"When  that  day  comes,  believe  me,"  she 
said,  and  her  delicious  face  took  on  a  richer 
hue,  "when  that  day  comes  there  will  be 
neither  asking  nor  giving,  we  shall  have 
come  into  our  own." 

With  this  assurance  Mr.  Incoul  was  fain 
to  be  content,  and,  after  another  word  or 
two,  he  took  his  leave. 

For  some  time  after  his  departure,  Miss 
Barhyte  stood  thinking.  It  had  grown  quite 
dark.  Before  the  window  a  street  lamp 
burned  with  a  small,  steady  flame,  but  be 
yond,  the  azure  of  the  electric  light  pervaded 
the  adjacent  square  with  a  suggestion  of  ab 
sinthe  and  vice.  One  by  one  the  opposite 
houses  took  on  some  form  of  interior  il 
lumination.  A  newsboy  passed,  hawking  an 
extra  with  a  noisy,  aggressive  ferocity  as 
though  he  were  angry  with  the  neighbor- 


28       MR.  INCO  UL'S  VISA  D  VENTURE. 

hood,  and  dared  it  come  out  and  wrestle 
with  him  for  his  wares.  There  was  a  thin 
broken  stream  of  shop-girls  passing  east 
ward  ;  at  intervals,  men  in  evening  dress 
sauntered  leisurely  to  their  dinners,  to  res 
taurants,  or  to  clubland,  and  over  the  rough 
pavement  there  was  a  ceaseless  rattle  of 
traps  and  of  wagons ;  the  air  was  alive  with 
the  indefinable  murmurs  of  a  great  city. 

Miss  Barhyte  noticed  none  of  these  things. 
She  had  taken  her  former  seat  on  the  sofa 
and  sat,  her  elbow  on  her  crossed  knee,  her 
chin  resting  in  her  hand,  while  the  fingers 
touched  and  barely  separated  her  lips.  The 
light  from  without  was  just  strong  enough  to 
reach  her  feet  and  make  visible  the  gold 
clock  on  her  silk  stocking,  but  her  face  was 
in  the  shadow  as  were  her  thoughts. 

Presently  she  rose  and  rang  the  bell. 
"Archibald,"  she  said,  when  the  man  came, 
and  who  at  once  busied  himself  with  lighting 
the  gas,  "  I  want  to  send  a  note  ;  can't  you 
take  it  ?  It 's  only  across  the  square." 

*' 1  '11  have  to  be  mighty  spry  about  it, 
miss.  The  old  lady  do  carry  on  most  un 
reasonable  if  I  go  for  anybody  but  herself. 
She  has  laws  that  strict  they'd  knock  the 
Swedes  and  Prussians  silly.  Why,  you 
would  n't  believe  if  I  told  you  how — " 


MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.       29 

And  Archibald  ran  on  with  an  unbeliev 
able  tale  of  recent  adventure  with  the  land 
lady.  But  the  girl  feigned  no  interest.  She 
had  taken  a  card  from  her  case.  On  it  she 
wrote,  Viens  ce  soir,  and  after  running  the 
pencil  through  her  name,  she  wrote  on  the 
other  side,  Lenox  Leigh,  esq.,  Athenaeum 
Club. 

"There,"  she  said,  interrupting  the  negro 
in  the  very  climax  of  his  story,  "it's  for  Mr. 
Leigh  ;  you  are  sure  to  find  him,  so  wait  for 
an  answer." 

A  fraction  of  an  hour  later,  when  Miss 
Barhyte  took  her  seat  at  the  dinner  table, 
she  found  beside  her  plate  a  note  that  con 
tained  a  single  line:  "Will  be  with  you  at 
nine.  I  kiss  your  lips.  L.  L." 


CHAPTER  III. 


AFTER    DARKNESS. 


"\17HEN  Miss  Barhyte  was  one  year 
*  *  younger  she  had  gone  with  her  mother 
to  pass  the  summer  at  Mt.  Desert  ;  and  there, 
the  morning  of  her  arrival,  on  the  monster 
angle  of  Rodick's  porch,  Lenox  Leigh  had 
caused  himself  to  be  presented. 

A  week  later  Miss  Barhyte  and  her  new 
acquaintance  were  as  much  gossiped  about 
as  was  possible  in  that  once  unconventional 
resort. 

Lenox  Leigh  was  by  birth  a  Baltimorean, 
and  by  profession  a  gentleman  of  leisure,  yet 
as  the  exercise  of  that  profession  is  consid 
ered  less  profitable  in  Baltimore  than  in  New 
York,  he  had,  for  some  time  past,  been 
domiciled  in  the  latter  city.  From  the  onset 
he  was  well  received  ;  one  of  the  Amsterdams 
had  married  a  Leigh,  his  only  sister  had 
charmed  the  heart  of  Nicholas  Manhattan, 
and  being  in  this  wise  connected  with  two  of 
the  reigning  families,  he  found  the  doors 


.I/A'.  INCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VEN  TURE.       Ji 

open  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  even  in  the 
absence  of  potent  relatives,  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  have  been  cor 
dially  welcomed.  He  was,  it  is  true,  better 
read  than  nineteen  men  out  of  twenty  ;  when 
he  went  to  the  opera  he  preferred  listening  to 
the  music  to  wandering  from  box  to  box  ;  he 
declined  to  figure  in  cotillons  and  at  no 
dinner,  at  no  supper  had  he  been  known  to 
drink  anything  stronger  than  claret  and 
water. 

But  as  an  offset  to  these  defects  he  was  one 
of  the  most  admirably  disorganized  young  men 
that  ever  trod  Fifth  avenue.  He  was  with 
out  beliefs  and  without  prejudices  ;  added  to 
this  he  was  indulgent  to  the  failings  of  others, 
or  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  that  he 
was  indifferent.  It  may  be  that  the  worst 
thing  about  him  was  that  he  was  not  bad 
enough  ;  his  wickedness,  such  as  there  was 
of  it,  was  purely  negative.  A  poet  of  the 
decadence  of  that  period  in  fact  when  Rome 
had  begun  to  weary  of  debauchery  without 
yet  acquiring  a  taste  for  virtue,  a  pre-mediae- 
val  Epicurean,  let  us  say,  could  not  have 
pushed  a  creedless  refinement  to  a  greater 
height  than  he.  There  were  men  who  thought 
him  a  prig,  and  who  said  so  when  his  back 
was  turned. 


32      MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

It  was  in  the  company  of  this  patrician  of  a 
later  day  that  Miss  Barhyte  participated  in 
the  enjoyments  of  Mt.  Desert.  Leigh  was 
then  in  his  twenty-fifth  year,  and  Miss 
Barhyte  was  just  grazing  the  twenties.  He 
was  attractive  in  appearance,  possessed  of 
those  features  which  now  and  then  permit  a 
man  to  do  without  beard  or  moustache,  and 
his  hair,  which  was  black,  clung  so  closely  to 
his  head  that  at  a  distance  it  might  have  been 
taken  for  the  casque  of  a  Saracen.  To  Miss 
Barhyte,  as  already  noted,  a  full  share  of 
beauty  had  been  allotted.  Together  they 
formed  one  of  the  most  charming  couples 
that  it  has  ever  been  the  historian's  privilege 
to  admire.  And  being  a  charming  couple, 
and  constantly  together,  they  excited  much 
interest  in  the  minds  of  certain  ladies  who 
hailed  from  recondite  Massachusettsian  re 
gions. 

To  this  interest  they  were  indifferent.  At 
first,  during  the  early  evenings  when  the  stars 
were  put  out  by  the  Northern  Lights,  they 
rowed  to  the  outermost  shore  of  a  neighbor 
ing  island  and  lingered  there  for  hours  in  an 
enchanted  silence.  Later,  in  the  midsummer 
nights,  when  the  harvest-moon  was  round 
and  mellow,  they  wandered  through  the  open 
fields  back  into  the  Dantesque  forests  and 


.I/A*.  INCOULS  MISADTENTURE.       JJ 

strayed  in  the  clinging  shadows  and  inviting 
solitudes  of  the  pines. 

From  one  such  excursion  they  returned 
to  the  hotel  at  an  hour  which  startled  the 
night  porter,  who,  in  that  capricious  resort, 
should  have  lost  his  ability  to  be  startled  at 
anything. 

That  afternoon  Mrs.  Bunker  Hill — one  of 
the  ladies  to  whom  allusion  has  been  made — 
approached  Miss  Barhyte  on  the  porch. 
"And  are  you  to  be  here  much  longer?"  she 
asked,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  desultory 
conversation. 

'•  The  holidays  are  almost  over,"  the  girl 
answered,  with  her  radiant  smile. 

"  Holidays  do  you  call  them  ?  Holidays 
did  I  understand  you  to  say?  /should  have 
called  them  fast  days."  And,  with  that  elab 
orate  witticism,  Mrs.  Bunker  Hill  shook  out 
her  skirts  and  sailed  away. 

Meanwhile  an  enveloping  intimacy  had 
sprung  up  between  the  two  young  people. 
Their  conversation  need  not  be  chronicled. 
There  was  in  it  nothing  unusual  and  nothing 
particularly  brilliant ;  it  was  but  a  strain 
from  that  archaic  duo  in  which  we  have  all 
taken  part  and  which  at  each  repetition  seems 
an  original  theme. 

For  the  first  time  Miss  Barhyte  learned  the 


34      MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

intoxication  of  love.  She  gave  her  heart 
ungrudgingly,  without  calculation,  without 
forethought,  wholly,  as  a  heart  should  be 
given  and  freely  as  had  the  gift  been  conse 
crated  in  the  nave  of  a  cathedral.  If  she 
were  generous  why  should  she  be  blamed  ? 
In  the  giving  she  found  that  mite  of  happi 
ness,  that  one  unclouded  day  that  is  fair  as 
June  roses  and  dawns  but  once. 

In  September  Miss  Barhyte  went  with  her 
mother  on  a  visit  in  the  Berkshire  Hills. 
Leigh  journeyed  South.  A  matter  of  busi 
ness  claimed  his  attention  in  Baltimore,  and 
when,  early  in  November,  he  reached  New 
York  the  girl  had  already  returned. 

Since  the  death  of  Barhyte  ptre  she  had 
lived  with  her  mother  in  a  small  house  in 
Irving  Place,  which  they  rented,  furnished, 
by  the  year.  But  on  this  particular  autumn 
affairs  had  gone  so  badly,  some  stock  had 
depreciated,  some  railroad  had  been  mis 
managed,  or  some  trustee  had  speculated — 
something,  in  fact,  had  happened  of  which  no 
one  save  those  personally  interested  ever 
know  or  ever  care,  and,  as  a  result,  the  house 
in  Irving  Place  was  given  up,  and  the  mother 
and  daughter  moved  into  a  boarding-house. 

Of  all  this  Lenox  Leigh  was  made  duly 
aware.  Had  he  been  able,  and  could  such  a 


JlfA.  LVCO  UL'S  MISA D  VENTURE.       35 

thing  have  been  proper  and  conventional,  he 
would  have  been  glad  indeed  to  offer  assist 
ance  ;  he  was  not  selfish,  but  then  he  was  not 
rich,  a  condition  which  always  makes  un 
selfishness  easy.  Matrimony  was  out  of  the 
question  ;  his  income  was  large  enough  to 
permit  him  to  live  without  running  into  debt, 
but  beyond  that  its  flexibility  did  not  extend, 
and  in  money  matters,  and  in  money  matters 
alone,  Lenox  Leigh  was  the  most  scrupulous 
of  men.  Beside,  as  the  phrase  goes,  he  was 
not  a  marrying  man — marriage,  he  was  ac 
customed  to  assert,  means  one  woman  more 
and  one  man  less,  and  beyond  that  definition 
he  steadfastly  declined  to  look,  except  to  an 
nounce  that,  like  some  other  institutions, 
matrimony  was  going  out  of  fashion. 

That  winter  Miss  Barhyte  was  more  cir 
cumspect.  It  was  not  that  her  affection  had 
faltered,  but  in  the  monochromes  of  a  great 
city  the  primal  glamour  that  was  born  of  the 
fields  and  of  the  sea  lost  its  lustre.  Then, 
too,  Lenox  in  the  correctness  of  evening  dress 
was  not  the  same  adorer  who  had  lounged  in 
flannels  at  her  side,  and  the  change  from  the 
open  country  to  the  boarding-house  parlor 
affected  their  spirits  unconsciously. 

And  so  the  months  wore  away.  There 
were  dinners  and  routs  which  the  young 


J6      MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

people  attended  in  common,  there  were  long 
walks  on  avenues  unfrequented  by  fashion, 
and  there  were  evenings  prearranged  which 
they  passed  together  and  during  which  the 
girl's  mother  sat  up  stairs  and  thought  her 
own  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Barhyte  had  been  a  pretty  woman  and 
inconsequential,  as  pretty  women  are  apt  to 
be.  Her  girlhood  had  been  of  the  happiest, 
without  a  noteworthy  grief.  She  married  one 
whose  perfection  had  seemed  to  her  impecca 
ble,  and  then  suddenly  without  a  monition 
the  tide  of  disaster  set  in.  After  the  birth  of 
a  second  child,  Maida,  her  husband  began  to 
drink,  and  drank,  after  each  debauch  with  a 
face  paler  than  before,  until  disgrace  came 
and  with  it  a  plunge  into  the  North  River. 
Her  elder  child,  a  son,  on  whom  she  placed 
her  remaining  hopes,  had  barely  skirted  man 
hood  before  he  was  taken  from  her  to  die  of 
small-pox  in  a  hospital.  Then  came  a  depre 
ciation  in  the  securities  which  she  held  and  in 
its  train  the  small  miseries  of  the  shabby 
genteel.  Finally,  the  few  annual  thousands 
that  were  left  to  her  seemed  to  evaporate, 
and  as  she  sat  in  her  room  alone  her  thoughts 
were  bitter.  The  pretty  inconsequential  girl 
had  developed  into  a  woman,  hardened  yet 
unresigned.  At  forty-five  her  hair  was  white, 


MK.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       37 

her  face  was  colorless  as  her  widow's  cap,  her 
heart  was  dead. 

On  the  night  when  her  daughter,  under 
the  chaperonage  of  Mrs.  Hildred,  one  of  her 
few  surviving  relatives — returned  from  the 
reception,  she  was  still  sitting  up.  At  Mrs. 
Hildred's  suggestion  a  position,  to  which 
allusion  has  been  made,  had  been  offered 
to  her  daughter,  and  that  position — the 
bringing  up  or  rather  the  bringing  out  of 
a  child  of  the  West — she  determined 
that  her  daughter  should  accept.  After 
wards — well,  perhaps  for  Maida  there  were 
other  things  in  store,  as  for  herself  she 
expected  little.  She  would  betake  herself 
to  some  Connecticut  village  and  there  wait 
for  death. 

When  her  daughter  entered  the  room  she 
was  sitting  in  the  erect  impassibility  of  a 
statue.  Her  eyes  indeed  were  restless,  but 
her  face  was  dumb,  and  in  the  presence  of 
that  silent  desolation,  the  girl's  tender  heart 
was  touched. 

"  Mother  !"  she  exclaimed,  "why  did  you 
v;ait  up  for  me?"  And  she  found  a  seat  on 
the  sofa  near  her  mother  and  took  her  hand 
caressingly  in  her  own.  "  Why  are  you  up 
so  late,"  she  continued,  "  are  you  not 
tired  ?  Oh,  mother,"  the  girl  cried,  impet- 


JS      MR.  IXCOULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

uously,  "if  you  only  knew  what  happened  to 
night — what  do  you  suppose  ?" 

But  Mrs.  Barhyte  shopk  her  head,  she  had 
no  thoughts  left  for  suppositions.  And 
quickly,  for  the  mere  sake  of  telling  something 
that  would  arouse  her  mother  if  ever  so  little 
from  her  apathy,  Maida  related  Mr.  Incoul's 
offer.  Her  success  was  greater,  if  other, 
than  she  anticipated.  It  was  as  though  she 
had  poured  into  a  parching  throat  the  very 
waters  of  life.  It  was  the  post  tenebras,  lux. 
And  what  a  light  !  The  incandescence  of 
unexpected  hope.  A  cataract  of  gold  pieces 
could  not  have  been  more  dazzling;  it  was 
blinding  after  the  shadows  in  which  she  had 
groped.  The  color  came  to  her  cheeks,  her 
hand  grew  moist.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried, 
urging  the  girl's  narrative  with  a  motion  of 
the  head  like  to  that  of  a  jockey  speeding  to 
the  post ;  "  yes,  yes,"  she  repeated,  and  her 
restless  eyes  flamed  with  the  heat  of  fever. 

"Wasn't  it  odd?"  Maida  concluded  ab 
ruptly. 

"But  you  accepted  him?"  the  mother 
asked  hoarsely,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Accepted  him  ?  No,  of  course  not — he — 
why,  mother,  what  is  the  matter?" 

Engrossed  in  the  telling  of  her  story,  the 
girl  had  not  noticed  her  mother's  agitation, 


MX.  IXCUUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       39 

but  at  her  last  words,  at  the  answer  to  the 
question,  her  wrist  had  been  caught  as  in  a 
vise,  and  eyes  that  she  no  longer  recognized 
— eyes  dilated  with  anger,  desperation  and 
revulsion  of  feeling — were  staring  into  her 
own.  Instinctively  she  drew  back — "Oh, 
mother,  what  is  it  ?"  And  the  mother  bend 
ing  forward,  even  as  the  daughter  retreated, 
hissed,  "  You  shall  accept  him — I  say  you 
shall  !" 

"  Mother,  mother,"  the  girl  moaned,  help 
lessly. 

"  You  shall  accept  him,  do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  But,  mother,  how  can  I  ?"  The  tears 
were  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  she  was  fright 
ened — the  acute,  agonizing  fright  of  a  child 
pursued.  She  tried  to  free  herself,  but  the 
hands  on  her  wrist  only  tightened,  and  her 
mother's  face,  livid  now,  was  close  to  her 
own. 

"  You  shall  accept  him,"  she  repeated  with 
the  insistence  of  a  monomaniac.  And  the 
girl,  with  bended  head,  through  the  parox- 
isms  of  her  sobs,  could  only  murmur  in  pite 
ous,  beseeching  tones,  "  Mother  !  mother  !" 

But  to  the  plaint  the  woman  was  as  deaf  as 
her  heart  was  dumb.  She  indeed  loosened 
her  hold  and  the  girl  fell  back  on  the  lounge 
from  which  they  had  both  arisen,  but  it  was 


40       MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

only  to  summon  from  the  reservoirs  of  her 
being  some  new  strength  wherewith  to  van 
quish.  For  a  moment  she  stood  motionless, 
watching  the  girl  quiver  in  her  emotion,  and 
as  the  sobbing  subsided,  she  stretched  forth 
her  hand  again,  and  caught  her  by  the  shoul 
der. 

"  Look  up  at  me,"  she  said,  and  the  girl, 
obedient,  rose  from  her  seat  and  gazed  im 
ploringly  in  her  mother's  face.  No  Neapoli 
tan  fish-wife  was  ever  more  eager  to  barter 
her  daughter  than  was  this  lady  of  acknowl 
edged  piety  and  refinement,  and  the  face  into 
which  her  daughter  looked  and  shrank  from 
bore  no  trace  of  pity  or  compassion.  "  Tell 
me  if  you  dare,"  she  continued,  "tell  me 
why  it  is  that  you  refuse  ?  What  more  do 
you  want  ?  Are  you  a  princess  of  the  blood  ? 
Perhaps  you  will  say  you  do  n't  love  him  ! 
And  what  if  you  do  n't  ?  I  loved  your  father 
and  look  at  me  now  !  Beside,  you  have  had 
enough  of  that — there,  don't  stare  at  me  in 
that  way.  I  know,  and  so  do  you.  Now 
take  your  choice — accept  this  offer  or  get 
to  your  lover — and  this  very  night.  As  for 
me,  I  disown  you,  I — " 

But  the  flood  of  words  was  interrupted — 
the  girl  had  fainted.  The  simulachre  of 
death  had  extended  its  kindly  arms,  and  into 


MR.  IN  CO  UL '  S  MJSA  D  VEN  TURE.      41 

them  she  -had   fallen  as  into  a  grateful  re 
lease. 

By  the  morrow  her  spirit  was  broken.  Two 
days  later  Mr.  Incoul  called  with  what  suc 
cess  the  reader  has  been  already  informed, 
and  on  that  same  evening  in  obedience  to 
the  note,  came  Lenox  Leigh. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN    EVENING    CALL. 

HEN  Leigh  entered  the  drawing-room 
he  found  Miss  Barhyte  already  there. 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  come,"  she  said,  by 
way  of  greeting. 

The  young  man  advanced  to  where  she 
stood,  and  in  a  tender,  proprietary  manner, 
took  her  hand  in  his ;  he  would  have  kissed 
her,  but  she  turned  her  face  aside. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  ;  "you  are  pale  as 
Ophelia." 

"  And  you,  my  prince,  as  inquisitive  as 
Hamlet." 

She  led  him  to  a  seat  and  found  one  for 
herself.  Her  eyes  rested  in  his  own,  and  for 
a  moment  both  were  silent. 

"  Lenox,"  she  asked  at  last,  "do  you  know 
Mr.  Incoul  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course  ;  every  one  does." 

"I  mean  do  you  know  him  well  ?" 

"  I  never  said  ten  words  to  him,  nor  he  to 
me." 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       43 

"  So  much  the  better.  What  do  you  sup 
pose  he  did  the  other  evening  after  you  went 
away  ?" 

"  Really,  I  have  no  idea,  but  if  you  wish 
me  to  draw  on  my  imagination,  I  suppose  he 
went  away  too." 

"He  offered  himself." 

"  For  what  ?" 

"To  me." 

"  Maida,  that  mummy  !     You  are  joking." 

"  No,  I  am  not  joking,  nor  was  he." 

"Well,  what  then?" 

"Then,  as  you  say,  he  went  away." 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"  I  went  away  too." 

"  Be  serious  ;  tell  me  about  it." 

"He  came  here  this  afternoon,  and  I — well 
— I  am  to  be  Mrs.  Incoul." 

Lenox  bit  his  lip.  Into  his  face  there  came 
an  expression  of  angered  resentment.  He 
stood  up  from  his  seat ;  the  girl  put  out  her 
hand  as  though  to  stay  him  :  "  Lenox,  I  had 
to,"  she  cried.  But  he  paid  no  attention  to 
her  words  and  crossed  the  room. 

On  the  mantel  before  him  was  a  clock  that 
ticked  with  a  low,  dolent  moan,  and  for  some 
time  he  stood  looking  at  it  as  were  it  an  ob 
ject  of  peculiar  interest  which  he  had  never 
before  enjoyed  the  leisure  to  examine.  But 


44      MR-  IN  CO  UL  S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

the  clock  might  have  swooned  from  internal 
pain,  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  it ;  his  thoughts 
circled  through  episodes  of  the  winter  back 
to  the  forest  and  the  fringes  of  the  summer 
sea.  And  slowly  the  anger  gave  way  to  won 
der,  and  presently  the  wonder  faded  and  in 
its  place  there  came  a  sentiment  like  that  of 
sorrow,  a  doubled  sorrow  in  whose  compo 
nent  parts  there  was  both  pity  and  distress. 
It  is  said  that  the  rich  are  without  appre 
ciation  of  their  wealth  until  it  is  lost  or  en 
dangered,  and  it  was  not  until  that  evening 
that  Lenox  Leigh  appreciated  at  its  worth 
the  loveliness  that  was  slipping  from  him. 
He  knew  then  that  he  might  tread  the  high 
roads  and  faubourgs  of  two  worlds  with  the 
insistence  of  the  Wandering  Jew,  and  yet  find 
no  one  so  delicious  as  she.  And  in  the  first 
flood  of  his  anger  he  felt  as  were  he  being 
robbed,  as  though  the  one  thing  that  had 
lifted  him  out  of  the  brutal  commonplaces  of 
the  every  day  was  being  caught  up  and  car 
ried  beyond  the  limits  of  vision.  And  into 
this  resentment  there  came  the  suspicion  that 
he  was  not  alone  being  robbed,  that  he  was 
being  cheated  to  boot,  that  the  love  which  he 
had  thought  to  receive  as  he  had  seemed  to 
give  love  before,  was  an  illusory  representa 
tion,  a  phantom  constructed  of  phrases. 


J\fA\  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       45 

But  this  suspicion  faded  ;  he  knew  untold 
that  the  girl's  whole  heart  was  his,  had  been 
his,  was  yet  his  and  probably  would  be  his 
for  all  of  time,  till  the  grave  opened  and 
closed  again.  And  then  the  wonder  came. 
He  knew,  none  better,  the  purity  of  her 
heart,  and  knowing,  too,  her  gentleness,  the 
sweetness  of  her  nature,  her  abnegation  of 
self,  he  began  to  understand  that  some  trag 
edy  had  been  enacted  which  he  had  not  been 
called  upon  to  witness.  Of  her  circumstances 
he  had  been  necessarily  informed.  But  in 
the  sensitiveness  of  her  refinement  the  girl 
had  shrunk  from  unveiling  to  a  lover's  eyes 
the  increasing  miseries  of  her  position,  and 
of  the  poignancy  of  those  miseries  he  had 
now,  uninformed,  an  inkling.  If  she  sold 
herself,  surely  it  was  because  the  sale  was 
imperative.  The  white  impassible  face  of 
the  girl's  mother  rose  before  him  and  then, 
at  once,  he  understood  her  cry,  "  Lenox,  I 
had  to." 

As  he  moved  from  her,  Maida  had  seen  the 
anger,  and  knowing  the  anger  to  be  as  just 
as  justice  ever  is,  she  shook  her  head  in  help 
less  grief,  yet  her  eyes  were  tearless  as  had 
she  no  tears  left  to  shed.  She  had  seen  the 
anger,  but  ignorant  of  the  phases  of  thought 
by  which  it  had  been  transfigured  she  stole 


46      MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

up  to  where  he  stood  and  touched  his  arm 
with  a  shrinking  caress. 

He  turned  and  would  have  caught  her  to 
him,  but  she  drew  back,  elusively,  as  might  a 
swan.  "No,  not  that,  Lenox.  Only  say 
that  you  do  not  hate  me.  Lenox,  if  you  only 
knew.  To  me  it  is  bitterer  than  death.  You 
are  the  whole  world  to  me,  yet  never  must  I 
see  you  again.  If  I  could  but  tell  you  all.  If 
I  could  but  tell  him  all,  if  there  were  any 
thing  that  I  could  do  or  say,  but  there  is 
nothing,  nothing,"  she  added  pensively,  "  ex 
cept  submission." 

Her  voice  had  sunk  into  a  whisper :  she 
was  pleading  as  much  with  herself  as  with 
him.  Her  arms  were  pendant  and  her  eyes 
downcast.  On  the  mantel  the  clock  kept  up 
its  low,  dolorous  moan,  as  though  in  sym 
pathy  with  her  woe.  "  Nothing,"  she  re 
peated. 

"  But  surely  it  need  not  be.  Things  can 
not  be  so  bad  as  that — Maida,  I  cannot  lose 
you.  If  nothing  else  can  be  done,  let  us 
go  away  ;  at  its  best  New  York  is  tiresome  ; 
we  could  both  leave  it  without  a  regret  or  a 
wish  to  return.  And  then,  there  is  Italy  ;  we 
have  but  to  choose.  Why,  I  could  take  a 
palace  on  the  Grand  Canal  for  less  than  I  pay 
for  my  rooms  at  the  Cumberland.  And  you 


MR.IXCOUi:  ''KE.       47 

would  love  Venice  ;  and  in  winter  there  is 
Capri  and  Sorrento  and  Palermo.  I  have 
known  days  in  Palermo  when  I  seemed  to  be 
living  in  a  haze  of  turquoise  and  gold.  And 
the  nights !  You  should  see  the  nights ! 
The  stars  are  large  as  lilies  !  See,  it  would  be 
so  easy  ;  in  a  fortnight  we  could  be  in  Genoa, 
and  before  we  got  there  we  would  have  been 
forgotten." 

He  was  bending  forward  speaking  rapidly, 
persuasively,  half  hoping,  half  fearing,  she 
would  accept.  She  did  not  interrupt  him, 
and  he  continued  impetuously,  as  though 
intoxicated  on  his  own  words. 

"  When  we  are  tired  of  the  South,  there  are 
the  lakes  and  that  lovely  Tyrol ;  there  will  be 
so  much  to  do,  so  much  to  see.  After  New 
York,  we  shall  really  seem  to  live ;  and  then, 
beyond,  is  Munich — you  are  sure  to  love  that 
city."  He  hated  Munich ;  he  hated  Ger 
many.  The  entire  land,  and  everything  that 
was  in  it,  was  odious  to  him  ;  but  for  the 
moment  he  forgot.  He  would  have  said 
more,  even  to  praises  of  Berlin,  but  the  girl 
raised  her  ringless  hand  and  shook  her  head 
wearily. 

"  No,  Lenox,  it  may  not  be.  Did  I  go  with 
you,  in  a  year— six  months,  perhaps — we 
would  both  regret.  It  would  be  not  only 


j8       MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

expatriation  ;  it  would,  for  me  at  least,  be 
isolation  as  well,  and,  though  I  would  bear 
willingly  with  both,  you  would  not.  You 
think  so  now,  perhaps,  I  do  not  doubt" — and 
a  phantom  of  a  smile  crossed  her  face — "  and  I 
thank  you  for  so  thinking,  but  it  may  not  be." 

Her  hand  fell  to  her  side,  and  she  turned 
listlessly  away.  "  You  must  forget  me, 
Lenox— but  not  too  soon,  will  you  ?" 

"  Never,  sweetheart— never  !" 

"Ah,  but  you  must.  And  I  must  learn  to 
forget  you.  It  will  be  difficult.  No  one  can 
be  to  me  what  you  have  been.  You  have 
been  my  youth,  Lenox ;  my  girlhood  has 
been  yours.  I  have  nothing  left.  Nothing 
except  regrets — regrets  that  youth  should 
pass  so  quickly  and  that  girlhood  comes  but 
once." 

Her  lips  were  tremulous,  but  she  was  try 
ing  to  be  brave. 

"But  surely,  Maida,  it  cannot  be  that 
we  are  to  part  forever.  Afterwards—"  the 
word  was  vague,  but  they  both  under 
stood — "afterwards  I  may  see  you.  Such 
things  often  are.  Because  you  feel  yourself 
compelled  to  this  step,  there  is  no  reason  why  I, 
of  all  others,  should  be  shut  out  of  your  life." 

"It  is  the  fact  of  your  being  the  one  of  all 
others  that  makes  the  shutting  needful." 


.1/A\  LVCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       49 

"It  shall  not  be." 

"  Lenox,"  she  pleaded,  "it  is  harder  for  me 
than  for  you." 

"  But  how  can  you  ask  me,  how  can  you 
think  that  I  will  give  you  up?  The  affair  is 
wretched  enough  as  it  is,  and  now,  by  insist 
ing  that  I  am  not  to  see  you  again,  you 
would  make  it  even  worse.  People  think  it 
easy  to  love,  but  it  is  not ;  I  know  nothing 
more  difficult.  You  are  the  only  one  for  whom 
I  have  ever  cared.  It  was  not  difficult  to  do 
so,  I  admit,  but  the  fact  remains.  I  have  loved 
you,  I  have  loved  you  more  and  more  every 
day,  and  now,  when  I  love  you  most,  when  I 
love  you  as  I  can  never  love  again,  you  find 
it  the  easiest  matter  in  the  world  to  come  to 
me  and  say,  '  It 's  ended  ;  bon  jour.'  " 

"You  are  cruel,  Lenox,  you  are  cruel." 

"It  is  you  that  are  cruel,  and  there  the 
wonder  is,  for  your  cruelty  is  unconscious,  of 
your  own  free  will  you  would  not  know 
how." 

"It  is  not  that  I  am  cruel,  it  is  that  I  am 
trying  to  do  right.  And  it  is  for  you  to  aid 
me.  I  have  been  true  to  you,  do  not  ask  me 
now  to  be  false  to  myself." 

If  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Bunker  Hill  could 
have  looked  into  the  girl's  face,  her  sus 
picions  would  have  vanished  into  air.  Maida 


jo      MR.  INCO  UL'S  A/I  SAD  VENTURE. 

needed  only  a  less  fashionable  gown  to  look 
like  a  mediaeval  saint ;  and  before  the  honesty 
that  was  in  her  eyes  Lenox  bowed  his  head. 

"  Will  you  help  me  ?" 

"I  will,"  he  answered. 

"I  knew  you  would  ;  you  are  too  good  to 
try  to  make  me  more  miserable  than  I  am. 
And  now,  you  must  go  ;  kiss  me,  it  is  the 
last  time." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
full  upon  the  mouth.  He  kissed  her  wet 
eyes,  her  cheeks,  the  splendor  of  her  hair. 
And  after  a  moment  of  the  acutest  pain  of  all 
her  life,  the  girl  freed  herself  from  his  em 
brace,  and  let  him  go  without  another  word. 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  YELLOW  ENVELOPE. 


T^HERE  is  a  peculiarity  about  Baden- 
•*•  Baden  which  no  other  watering-place 
seems  to  share — it  has  the  aroma  of  a  pretty 
woman.  In  August  it  is  warm,  crowded, 
enervating,  tiresome  as  are  all  warm  and 
crowded  places,  but  the  air  is  delicately 
freighted  and  a  pervasive  fragrance  is  dis 
cerned  even  by  the  indifferent. 

In  the  summer  that  succeeded  Maida's 
marriage  Baden  was  the  same  tame,  perfumed 
zu'd  und  funfzig  that  it  has  ever  been  since 
the  war.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
were  to  regard  it  as  a  sort  of  continuation  of 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne  had  departed  never  to 
return.  Gone  was  Benazet,  gone,  too,  the 
click  of  the  roulette  ball.  The  echoes  and  up 
roars  of  the  Second  Empire  had  died  away,  as 
echoes  and  uproars  ever  must,  and  in  place 
of  the  paint  and  cleverness  of  the  dames  du- 
lac  had  come  the  stupid  loveliness  of  the 
sJi  u'drmerisch  Made  hen. 


J2      MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

But  though  Paris  had  turned  her  wicked 
back,  the  attitude  of  that  decadent  capi 
tal  in  no  wise  affected  other  cities.  On 
the  particular  August  to  which  allusion 
is  made,  interminable  dinners  were  con 
sumed  by  contingents  from  the  politest 
lands,  and  also  from  some  that  were  semi- 
barbaric. 

In  the  Lichenthal  Alice  and  on  the  prome 
nade  in  front  of  the  Kursaal  one  could  hear 
six  languages  in  as  many  minutes,  and  given 
a  polyglottic  ear  the  number  could  have  been 
increased  to  ten.  Among  those  who  added 
their  little  quota  to  this  summer  Babel  were 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Incoul. 

The  wedding  had  been  very  simple.  Mrs. 
Barhyte  had  wished  the  ceremony  performed 
in  Grace  Church,  and  to  the  ceremony  she 
had  also  wished  that  all  New  York  should 
be  bidden.  To  her  it  represented  a  glory 
which  in  the  absence  of  envious  witnesses 
would  be  lustreless  indeed.  But  in  this  re 
spect  her  wishes  were  disregarded.  On  a 
melting  morning  in  early  June,  a  handful  of 
people,  thirty  at  most,  assembled  in  Mrs. 
Hildred's  drawing-room.  The  grave  service 
that  is  in  usage  among  Episcopalians  was 
mumbled  by  a  diligent  bishop,  there  was  a 
hurried  and  heavy  breakfast,  and  two  hours 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       JJ 

later  the  bride  and  groom  were  on  the  deck 
of  the  "Umbria." 

The  entire  affair  had  been  conducted  with 
the  utmost  dispatch.  The  Sunday  Sun 
chronicled  the  engagement  in  one  issue,  and 
gave  the  date  of  the  wedding  in  the  next.  It 
was  not  so  much  that  Harmon  Incoul  was 
ardent  in  his  wooing  or  that  Miss  Barhyte 
was  anxious  to  assume  the  rank  and  privileges 
that  belong  to  the  wedded  state.  The  in 
centives  were  other  if  equally  prosaic.  The 
ceremony  if  undergone  needed  to  be  under 
gone  at  once.  Summer  was  almost  upon 
them,  and  in  the  code  which  society  has 
made  for  itself,  summer  weddings  are  re 
proved.  There  was  indeed  some  question  of 
postponing  the  rites  until  autumn.  But  on 
that  Mrs.  Barhyte  put  her  foot.  She  was 
far  from  sure  of  her  daughter,  and  as 
for  the  other  contracting  party,  who  could 
tell  but  that  he  might  change  his  mind. 
Such  changes  had  been,  and  instances  of 
such  misconduct  presented  themselves  un- 
summoned  to  the  woman's  mind.  The  fish 
had  been  landed  almost  without  effort,  a 
fish  more  desirable  than  any  other,  a  very 
prize  among  fishes,  and  the  possibility  that 
he  might  slip  away  and  without  so  much 
as  a  gill  awry  float  off  into  clearer  and 


M      MR.  INCO  UL  S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

less  troubled  seas,   nerved   her   to  her   task 
anew. 

In  the  interview  which  she  enjoyed  with 
her  prospective  son-in-law  she  was  careful, 
however,  to  display  no  eagerness.  She  was 
sedate  when  sedateness  seemed  necessary,  but 
her  usual  attitude  was  one  of  conciliatory 
disinterestedness.  Her  daughter's  choice  she 
told  him  had  met  with  her  fullest  approval, 
and  it  was  to  her  a  matter  of  deep  regret  that 
neither  her  husband  nor  her  father — the  late 
Chief  Justice  Hildred,  with  whose  name  Mr. 
Incoul  was  of  course  familiar — that  neither 
of  them  had  been  spared  to  join  in  the  ex 
pression  of  her  satisfaction.  Of  Maida  it 
was  unnecessary  to  speak,  yet  this  at  least 
should  be  said,  she  was  young  and  she  was 
impressionable,  as  young  people  are  apt  to  be, 
but  she  had  never  given  her  mother  cause  for 
the  slightest  vexation,  not  the  slightest.  "  She 
is  a  sweet  girl,"  Mrs.  Barhyte  went  on  to  say, 
"and  one  with  an  admirable  disposition  ;  she 
takes  after  her  father  in  that,  but  she  has  her 
grandfather's  intellect." 

"  Her  beauty,  madam,  comes  from  you." 
To  this  Mrs.  Barhyte  assented.     "  She  is 
pretty,"  she  said,  and  then  in  the  voice  of  an 
actress  who  feels  her  role,  "  Do  be  good  to 
her,"  she  pleaded,  "she  is  all  I  have." 


MR.  INCOUL  S  MISADVENTURE.       55 

Mr.  Incoul  assured  her  that  on  that  score 
she  need  give  herself  no  uneasiness,  and  a 
few  days  before  the  wedding,  begged  as  a 
particular  favor  to  himself  that  after  the 
ceremony  she  would  take  up  her  residence  in 
his  house.  The  servants,  he  explained,  had 
been  instructed  in  that  respect,  and  a  check 
book  of  the  Chemical  Bank  would  be  handed 
her  in  defrayment  of  all  expenses.  "And  to 
think,"  Mrs.  Barhyte  muttered  to  herself, 
"  to  think  that  I  might  have  died  in  Connecti 
cut!" 

The  voyage  over  was  precisely  like  any 
other.  There  were  six  days  of  discomfort  in 
the  open,  and  between  Queenstown  and  Liver 
pool  unnumbered  hours  of  gloomy  and  irrita 
ting  delay.  Mrs.  Incoul  grew  weary  of  the 
captain's  cabin  and  her  husband  was  not  en 
thusiastic  on  the  subject  of  the  quarters  which 
the  first  officer  had  relinquished  to  him.  But 
in  dear  old  London,  as  all  good  Americans  are 
wont  to  call  that  delightful  city,  Mrs.  Incoul's 
spirits  revived.  The  difference  between  Clar- 
idge's  and  Rodick's  would  have  interested  one 
far  more  apathetic  than  she,  and  as  she  had 
never  before  set  her  foot  on  Piccadilly,  and  as 
Rotten  Row  and  Regent  Circus  were  as  un 
familiar  to  her  as  the  banks  of  the  Yang-tse- 
Kiang,  she  had  none  of  that  satiated  feeling 


$6      MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

of  the  deja-vu  which  besets  the  majority  of  us 
on  our  travels. 

The  notice  of  their  arrival  in  the  Morning 
Post  had  been  followed  by  cards  without 
limit  and  invitations  without  stint.  An  even 
ing  gazette  published  an  editorial  a  column 
in  length,  in  which  after  an  historical  review 
of  wealth  from  Plutus  to  the  Duke  of  West 
minster,  the  reader  learned  that  the  world 
had  probably  never  seen  a  man  so  rich  and 
yet  seemingly  so  unconscious  of  the  power 
which  riches  give  as  was  Harmon  Incoul, 
esq.,  of  New  York,  U.  S.  A. 

During  the  few  weeks  that  were  passed  in 
London  the  bride  and  groom  were  bidden  to 
more  crushes,  dinners  and  garden  parties 
than  Maida  had  attended  during  the  entire 
course  of  her  bud-hood.  There  was  the  in 
evitable  presentation  and  as  the  girl's  face 
was  noticeably  fair  she  and  her  husband 
were  made  welcome  at  Marlborough  House. 
Afterwards,  yet  before  the  season  drooped, 
there  was  a  trip  to  Paris,  a  city,  which,  after 
the  splendors  of  London,  seemed  cheap  and 
tawdry  indeed,  and  then  as  already  noted 
came  the  villegiatura  at  Babel-Baden. 

Meanwhile  Maida  had  come  and  gone, 
eaten  and  fasted,  danced  and  driven  in  a 
constant  chase  after  excitement.  To  her 


JM'.   /.VCOr/AV  .MISADVENTURE.       57 

husband  she  had  acted  as  she  might  have 
done  to  some  middle-aged  cousin  with  whom 
she  was  not  precisely  on  that  which  is  termed 
a  familiar  footing,  one  on  whom  chance  not 
choice  had  made  her  dependent,  and  to  whom 
in  consequence  much  consideration  was  due. 
But  her  relations  will  be  perhaps  better  un 
derstood  when  it  is  related  that  she  had  not 
found  herself  physically  capable  of  calling 
him  by  his  given  name,  or  in  fact  anything 
else  than  You.  It  was  not  that  she  disliked 
him,  on  the  contrary,  in  many  ways  he  was 
highly  sympathetic,  but  the  well-springs  of 
her  affection  had  been  dried,  and  the  season 
of  their  refreshment  was  yet  obscure. 

In  the  face  of  this  half-hearted  platonism 
Mr.  Incoul  had  displayed  a  wisdom  which 
was  peculiar  to  himself ;  he  exacted  none  of 
those  little  tributes  which  are  conceded  to  be 
a  husband's  due,  and  he  allowed  himself  none 
of  the  familiarities  which  are  reported  to  be 
an  appanage  of  the  married  state.  From  the 
beginning  he  had  determined  to  win  his  wife 
by  the  exercise  of  that  force  which,  given 
time  and  opportunity,  a  strong  nature  invari 
ably  exerts  over  a  weaker  one.  He  was  in 
dulgent  but  he  was  also  austere.  The  order 
ing  of  one  gown  or  of  five  hundred  was  a 
matter  of  which  he  left  her  sole  mistress. 


J<?      MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

Had  she  so  desired  she  might  have  bought  a 
jewelry  shop  one  day  and  given  it  back  as  a 
free  gift  on  the  morrow.  But  on  a  question 
of  ethics  he  allowed  no  appeal.  The  Count 
ess  of  Ex,  a  lady  of  dishonor  at  a  popular 
court,  had,  during  the  London  season,  issued 
cards  for  a  ball.  On  the  evening  on  which 
it  was  to  take  place  the  bride  and  groom  had 
dined  at  one  house,  and  gone  to  a  musicale 
at  another.  When  leaving  the  latter  enter 
tainment  Maida  told  her  husband  to  tell  the 
man  "  Park  Lane."  Mr.  Incoul,  however, 
ordered  the  carriage  to  be  driven  to  the 
hotel. 

"  Did  you  not  understand  me  ?"  she  asked. 
"  I  am  going  to  the  Countess  of  Ex's." 

"  She  is  not  a  woman  whom  I  care  to  have 
you  know,"  he  replied. 

"  But  the  Prince  is  to  be  there  !  " 

To  this  he  assented.  "Perhaps."  And 
then  he  added  in  a  voice  that  admitted  of 
no  further  argument,  "But  not  my  wife." 

Maida  sank  back  in  the  carriage  startled 
by  an  unexperienced  emotion.  For  the  first 
time  since  the  wedding  she  could  have 
kissed  the  man  whose  name  she  bore.  It 
was  in  this  way  that  matters  shaped  them 
selves. 

Soon  after  reaching  Paris,  Mr.  Blydenburg 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.      59 

called.  He  had  brought  his  daughter  abroad 
because  he  did  not  know  what  else  to  do 
with  her,  and  now  that  he  was  on  the  Con 
tinent  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him 
self.  He  explained  these  pre-occupations 
and  Mr.  Incoul  suggested  that  in  the  general 
exodus  they  should  all  go  to  Germany.  To 
this  suggestion  Blydenburg  gave  a  ready  as 
sent  and  that  very  day  purchased  a  transla 
tion  of  Tacitus,  a  copy  of  Mr.  Baring-Gould's 
Germany,  a  Baedeker,  and  a  remote  edition 
of  Murray. 

At  the  appointed  date  the  little  party 
started  for  Cologne,  where,  after  viewing  a 
bone  of  the  fabulous  virgin  Undecemilla, 
they  drifted  to  Frankfort  and  from  there 
reached  the  Oos.  In  Baden,  Blydenburg 
and  his  daughter  elected  domicile  at  the  Eng- 
lischerhof,  while  through  the  foresight  of  a 
courier,  good-looking,  polyglottic,  idle  and 
useful,  the  Incouls  found  a  spacious  apart 
ment  in  the  Villa  Wilhelmina,  a  belonging  of 
the  Mesmer  House. 

In  the  drawer  of  the  table  which  Maida 
selected  as  a  suitable  place  for  superfluous 
rings  was  a  yellow  envelope  addressed  to  the 
Grafin  von  Adelsburg.  On  the  back  was  an 
attempt  at  addition,  a  double  column  of 
figures  which  evidently  represented  the  hotel 


60       MR.  IN  CO  UUS  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

expenses  of  the  lady  to  whom  the  envelope 
was  addressed.  The  figures  were  marked 
carefully  that  no  mistake  should  be  possible, 
but  the  sum  total  had  been  jotted  down  in 
hurried  numerals,  as  though  the  mathemati 
cian  had  been  irritated  at  the  amount,  while 
under  all,  in  an  indignant  scrawl,  was  the 
legend  "S.  T." 

Maida  was  the  least  inquisitive  of  mortals, 
but  one  evening,  a  week  or  ten  days  after  her 
arrival,  when  she  happened  to  be  sitting  in 
company  with  the  Byldenburgs  and  her  hus 
band  on  the  broad  terrace  that  fronts  the 
Kursaal,  she  alluded,  for  the  mere  sake  of 
conversation,  to  the  envelope  which  she 
had  found.  The  Grafin  von  Adelsburg  it 
then  appeared  was  the  name  with  which  the 
Empress  of  a  neighboring  realm  was  accus 
tomed  to  veil  her  rank,  and  the  legend  it  was 
suggested  could  only  stand  for  schrechlich 
thcucr,  frightfully  dear.  The  Empress  had 
vacated  the  Villa  Wilhelmina  but  a  short 
time  before  and  it  seemed  not  improbable 
that  the  figures  and  conclusion  were  in  her 
own  imperial  hand. 

While  this  subject  was  under  discussion 
the  Prince  of  Albion  sauntered  down  the 
walk.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  with  blue 
projecting  eyes,  somewhat  stout,  perhaps, 


MR.  INCOUL' S  MISADVENTURE.       61 

but  not  obese.  In  his  train  were  two  ladies 
and  a  few  men.  As  he  was  about  to  pass 
Mrs.  Incoul  he  stopped  and  raised  his  hat. 
It  was  of  soft  felt,  she  noticed,  and  his  coat 
was  tailless.  He  uttered  a  few  amiable  com 
monplaces  and  then  moved  on.  The  ter 
race  had  become  very  crowded.  The  little 
party  had  found  seats  near  the  musicians, 
and  from  either  side  came  a  hum  of  voices. 
A  Saxon  halted  before  them,  designating 
with  pointing  finger  the  retreating  back  of 
the  Prince,  his  companion,  a  pinguid  woman 
who  looked  as  though  she  lived  on  fish, 
shouted,  " Hcrr  Jesus!  ist  es  ja  moglich" 
and  hurried  on  for  a  closer  view.  Near  by 
was  a  group  of  Brazilians  and  among  them  a 
pretty  girl  in  a  fantastic  gown,  whose  voice 
was  like  the  murmur  of  birds.  To  the  left 
were  some  Russians  conversing  in  a  hard, 
cruel  French.  The  girl  seemed  to  have  in 
terested  them.  "  But  why  "  asked  one,  "  but 
why  is  it  that  she  wears  such  loud  colors?" 
To  which  another,  presumably  the  wit  of 
the  party,  answered  idly,  "  Who  knows,  she 
may  be  deaf."  And  immediately  behind  Mrs. 
Incoul  were  two  young  Americans,  wonder 
fully  well  dressed,  who  were  exchanging 
chaste  anecdotes  and  recalling  recent  ad 
ventures  with  an  accompaniment  of  smoth- 


62       MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

ered  laughter  that  was  fathomless  in  its 
good-fellowship. 

Maida  paid  no  attention  to  the  coversation 
about  her.  She  was  thinking  of  the  yellow 
envelope,  and  for  the  first  time  she  began  to 
form  some  conception  of  her  husband's 
wealth.  Apparently  he  thought  nothing  of 
prices  that  seemed  exorbitant  to  one  whose 
coffers  notoriously  overflowed.  She  had 
never  spoken  to  him  about  money,  nor  he  to 
her;  she  knew  merely  that  his  purse  was  open ; 
yet,  as  is  usual  with  one  who  has  been  obliged 
to  count  the  pennies,  she  had  in  her  recent 
shopping  often  hesitated  and  refused  to  buy. 
In  Paris  she  had  chaffered  over  handkerchiefs 
and  been  alarmed  at  Doucet's  bill.  Indeed 
at  Virot's  when  she  told  that  poetic  milliner 
what  she  wished  to  pay  for  a  bonnet,  Virot, 
smiling  almost  with  condescension,  had  said 
to  her,  "  The  chapeau  that  madame  wants 
is  surely  a  chapeau  en  Espagne" 

And  now  for  the  first  time  she  began  to 
understand.  She  saw  how  much  was  hers, 
how  ungrudingly  it  was  given,  how  easy  her 
path  was  made,  how  pleasant  it  might  be  for 
the  rest  of  her  days,  and  she  half-turned  and 
looked  at  her  husband.  If  she  could  only 
forget,  she  thought,  only  forget  and  begin 
anew.  If  she  could  but  tell  him  all  !  She 


MR.  INCOUL**  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       63 

moaned  to  herself.  The  moon  was  shining 
behind  the  Kursaal  and  in  the  air  was  the 
usual  caress.  The  musicians,  who  had  just 
attacked  and  subdued  the  Meistersanger, 
began  a  sob  of  Weber's  that  had  been 
strangled  into  a  waltz,  and  as  the  measures 
flowed  they  brought  her  that  pacification 
which  music  alone  can  bring. 

The  past  was  over  and  done,  ill-done,  she 
knew,  but  above  it  might  grow  such  weeds  of 
forgetfulness  as  would  hide  it  even  from  her 
self.  In  a  semi-unconsciousness  of  her  sur 
roundings  she  stared  like  a  pretty  sphinx 
into  the  future.  The  waltz  swooned  in  its 
ultimate  accords,  but  she  had  ceased  to  hear ; 
it  had  lulled  and  left  her ;  her  thoughts 
roamed  far  off  into  distant  possibilities;  she 
was  dreaming  with  eyes  wide  open. 

Abruptly  the  orchestra  attacked  a  score  that 
was  seasoned  with  red  pepper — the  can-can 
of  an  ope'ra-bouffe ;  the  notes  exploded  like 
fire  crackers,  and  in  the  explosion  brought 
vistas  of  silk  stockings,  whirlwinds  of  dis 
ordered  skirts,  the  heat  and  frenzy  of  an 
orgy.  And  then,  as  the  riot  mounted  like  a 
flame,  suddenly  in  a  clash  and  shudder  of 
brass  the  uproar  ceased. 

Maida,  aroused  from  her  revery  by  the  in 
decency  of  the  music,  looked  idly  about  her. 


64       MR.  INCO  UL'  S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

The  Russians  were  drinking  beer  that  was 
as  saffron  as  their  own  faces.  The  Brazilians 
had  departed.  The  young  Americans  were 
smoking  Bond  street  cigarettes  which  they 
believed  to  be  Egyptian,  and  discussing  the 
relative  merits  of  Hills  and  Poole. 

"While  I  was  getting  measured  for  that 
top-coat  you  liked  so  much,"  said  one, 
"  Leigh  came  in." 

"  Lee  ?     What  Lee  ?     Sumpter  ?" 

"  No  ;    Lenox  Leigh." 

"  Did  he,  though  ?     How  was  he  ?" 

"Finest  form.  Said  he  would  take  in 
Paris  and  Baden.  He  may  be  here  now  for 
all  I  know.  Let's  ask  the  waiter  for  a 
Fremden-List." 

Maida  had  heard,  and  with  the  hearing 
there  had  come  to  her  an  enveloping  dread. 
She  felt  that,  did  she  see  him,  the  love  which 
she  had  tried  to  banish  would  return  unfettered 
from  its  exile.  Strength  was  not  yet  hers  ; 
with  time,  she  knew,  she  could  have  sworn  it 
would  come  ;  but,  for  the  moment,  she  was 
helpless,  and  into  the  dread  a  longing  mingled. 
At  once,  as  though  in  search  of  a  protection 
that  should  guard  her  against  herself,  she 
turned  to  her  husband.  To  him,  the  Rus 
sians,  Brazilians,  and  other  gentry  had  been 
part  of  the  landscape.  He  had  little  taste 


J/A*.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       6j 

for  music,  and  Blydenburg  had  bored  him  as 
that  amiable  gentleman  was  accustomed  to 
bore  every  one  with  whom  he  conversed, 
yet,  nevertheless,  through  that  spirit  of  para 
dox  which  is  common  to  us  all,  Mr.  Incoul 
liked  the  man,  and  for  old  association's  sake 
took  to  the  boredom  in  a  kindlier  fashion 
than  had  it  come  from  a  newer  and  more 
vivacious  acquaintance.  Blydenburg  had 
been  explaining  the  value  of  recent  excava 
tions  in  Tirynth,  a  subject  which  Mr.  Incoul 
understood  better  than  the  informist,  but  he 
noticed  Maida's  movement  and  stopped 
short. 

"Come,  Milly,"  he  said  to  his  daughter, 
"let's  be  going." 

Milly  had  sat  by  his  side  the  entire  even 
ing,  in  stealthy  enjoyment  of  secular  music, 
performed  for  the  first  time  in  her  hearing 
on  the  Lord's  day.  She  was  a  pale,  freckled 
girl,  with  hair  of  the  shade  of  Bavarian  beer. 
She  was  not  beautiful,  but  then  she  was  good 
— a  sort  of  angel  bound  in  calf. 

When  Milly  and  her  father  had  disappeared, 
Maida  turned  to  her  husband  again.  "Do 
you  mind  leaving  Baden  ?"  she  asked. 

Mr.  Incoul  eyed  her  a  moment.  "Why?" 
he  asked.  He  had  a  trick  of  answering  one 
question  with  another,  yet  for  the  moment 


66       MR.  INCOUL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

she  wondered  whether  he  too  had  heard  the 
conversation  behind  them,  and  then  comforted 
by  the  thought  that  in  any  case  the  name  of 
Lenox  Leigh  could  convey  but  little  to  him, 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Oh,  I  don't 
know,"  she  said  ;  "  I  do  n't  like  it ;  it 's  hot 
and  crowded.  I  think  I  would  like  the  sea- 
shore  better." 

"Very  good,"  he  answered;  "whatever 
you  prefer.  I  will  speak  to  Karl  to-night." 
(Karl  was  the  courier.)  "I  don't  suppose," 
he  added,  reflectively,  "that  you  would  care 
for  Trouville — I  know  I  should  not." 

He  had  risen,  and  Maida,  who  had  risen 
with  him,  was  looking  down  at  the  gravel, 
which  she  toyed  nervously  with  her  foot. 
The  opera  that  had  been  given  that  evening 
was  evidently  over.  A  stream  of  people 
were  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  the 
atre,  and  among  them  was  the  Prince.  He 
was  chatting  with  his  companions,  but  his 
trained  eye  had  marked  Mrs.  Incoul,  and 
when  he  reached  the  place  where  she  stood 
he  stopped  again. 

"You  didn't  go  in  to-night,"  he  said,  col 
lectively.  "It  was  rather  good,  too."  And 
then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  con 
tinued  :  "Won't  you  both  dine  with  us  to 
morrow  ?" 


IJiCOL  7. '  .V  .  J//.Y.  /  D I  'J:X  TURK.       67 

"Oh,  we  can't,"  Maida  answered.  She 
was  tormented  with  the  thought  that  at  any 
moment  Lenox  might  appear.  "We  can't; 
we  are  going  away." 

The  Prince  smiled  in  his  brown  beard. 
Americans  were  popular  with  him.  He  liked 
their  freedom.  There  was,  he  knew,  barely 
one  woman  in  Baden,  not  utterly  bedridden, 
who  would  have  taken  his  invitation  so 
lightly.  "  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  and  he  spoke 
sincerely.  Like  any  other  sensible  man,  he 
liked  beauty  and  he  liked  it  near  him.  He 
knew  that  Mrs.  Incoul  had  been  recently 
married,  and  in  his  own  sagacious  way,  /'/ 
posait  des  jalons.  "  You  are  to  be  at  Bal- 
laster  in  the  autumn,  I  hear."  Ballaster  was 
a  commodious  shooting-box  in  Scotland,  the 
possession  of  an  hospitable  peer. 

"Yes,  I  believe  we  are,"  Maida  answered. 

"I  hope  to  see  you  there,"  and  with  these 
historic  words,  Prince  Charming  departed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


BIARRITZ. 

A  FTER  a  fruhstuck  of  coffee  and  honey, 
•**•  to  which  the  inn-keeper,  out  of  com 
pliment  to  the  nationality  of  his  guest,  had 
added  an  ear  of  green  corn — a  combination, 
be  it  said,  that  no  one  but  a  German  could 
have  imagined — Mr.  Incoul  went  in  search 
of  his  friend. 

He  had  questioned  Karl,  and  the  courier 
had  spoken  of  Ostend  with  such  enthusiasm 
that  his  employer  suspected  him  of  some 
personal  interest  in  the  place  and  struck  it  at 
once  from  the  list  of  possible  resorts  which 
he  had  been  devising.  On  the  subject  of 
other  bains  de  mcr  the  man  was  less  com 
municative.  There  was,  he  said,  nothing 
attractive  about  Travemunde,  except  the 
name  ;  Scheveningen  was  apt  to  be  chilly ; 
Trouville  he  rather  favored,  but  to  his  think 
ing  Ostend  was  preferable. 

When  the  courier  had  gone  Mr.  Incoul 
ran  his  eye  down  a  mental  map  of  the  coast 


MR.  IN  CO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       69 

of  France,  and  just  as  it  reached  the  Spanish 
frontier  he  remembered  that  some  one  in  his 
hearing  had  recently  sounded  the  attractions 
of  Biarritz.  On  that  seaboard  he  ultimately 
decided,  and  it  was  with  the  idea  that  Blyden- 
burg  might  go  further  and  fare  worse  that  he 
sought  his  friend  and  suggested  the  advan 
tages  of  a  trip  to  the  Basque  country. 

Mr.  Blydenburg  had  few  objections  to 
make.  He  had  taken  very  kindly  to  the 
consumption  of  beer,  but  beer  had  not  agreed 
with  him,  and  he  admitted,  did  he  stay  in 
Baden,  that,  in  spite  of  the  ill  effects,  he 
would  still  be  unable  to  resist  the  allure 
ments  of  that  insidious  beverage.  "Act  like 
a  man,  then,"  said  Mr.  Incoul,  encouragingly  ; 
"  act  like  a  man  and  flee  from  it." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  value  of  this 
advice,  but  between  its  adoption  and  a  jour 
ney  to  Biarritz  the  margin  was  wide.  "It  is 
true,"  he  said,  reflectively,  "  I  could  study 
the  language  at  the  fountain-head  "  (Mr. 
Blydenburg,  it  may  be  explained,  was  a  gen 
tleman  who  plumed  himself  on  his  familiarity 
with  recondite  tongues,  but  one  whose  knowl 
edge  of  the  languages  that  are  current  in 
polite  society  was  such  as  is  gleaned  from 
the  appendices  of  guide-books). 

Mr.    Incoul    nodded   approvingly,    "  Cer- 


70       MR.  INCO UL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

tainly  there  would  be  no  difficulty  about 
that." 

Blydenburg  looked  at  him  musingly  for  a 
moment  and  nodded,  too.  "The  name  Biar 
ritz,"  he  said,  " comes,  I  am  inclined  to  be 
lieve,  from  bi  haritz — two  oaks.  Minucius 
thinks  that  it  comes  from  bi  hard — two 
rocks ;  but  I  have  detected  Minucius  in  cer 
tain  errors  which  has  made  me  wary  of 
accepting  his  opinion.  For  instance,  he 
claims  that  the  Basques  are  descendants  of 
the  Phoenicians.  Nothing  could  be  more 
preposterous.  They  are  purely  Iberian,  and 
probably  the  most  ancient  race  in  Europe. 
Why,  you  would  be  surprised" — 

Mr.  Incoul  interrupted  him  cruelly — "  I 
often  am,"  he  said;  "now  tell  me,  will  you  be 
ready  this  afternoon  ?" 

"  The  laundress  has  just  taken  my  things." 

"  Send  after  them,  then.  I  make  no  doubt 
that  there  you  can  find  another  on  the  Bay  of 
Biscay." 

"  I  wonder  what  Biscay  comes  from  ?  bi 
scai,  two  currents,  perhaps.  Yes,  of  course, 
I  will  be  ready."  And  as  his  friend  moved 
away,  he  pursed  his  lips  abstractedly  and 
made  a  note  of  the  derivation. 

A  courier  aiding,  the  journey  from  Baden 
to  Biarritz  can  be  accomplished  without  loss 


TNCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       ;/ 

of  life  or  reason.  It  partakes  something  of 
the  character  of  a  zigzag,  the  connections 
are  seldom  convenient,  the  wayside  inns  are 
not  of  the  best,  but  if  people  go  abroad  to 
be  uncomfortable,  what  more  can  the  heart 
desire  ?  The  Incoul-Blydenburg  party,  im 
peded  by  Karl,  a  body-servant,  and  two 
maids,  received  their  allotted  share  of  dis 
comfort  with  the  very  best  grace  in  the  world. 
They  reached  Bayonne  after  five  days,  not,  it 
is  true,  of  consecutive  motion,  but  of  such 
consecutive  heat  that  they  were  glad  to  de 
scend  at  the  station  of  that  excitable  little  city 
and  in  the  fresh  night  air  drive  in  open  car 
riages  over  the  few  kilometres  that  remained 
to  be  traversed. 

It  was  many  hours  before  the  journey  was 
sufficiently  a  part  of  the  past  to  enable  the 
travelers  to  look  about  them,  but  on  the 
evening  succeeding  their  arrival,  after  a  din 
ner  on  the  verandah  of  the  Continental,  they 
s;it  with  much  contentment  of  spirit  enjoying 
the  intermittent  showers  of  summer  stars  and 
the  boom  and  rustle  of  the  waves.  Baden 
was  unregretted.  To  the  left,  high  above,  on 
the  summit  of  a  projecting  eminence,  the 
white  and  illuminated  Casino  glittered  like 
an  cerian  palace.  To  the  right  was  the  gar 
dened  quadrangle  of  the  former  Empress  of 


72       MR,  INCO  f/L'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

the  French,  in  the  air  was  the  scent  of  sea 
weed  and  before  them  the  Infinite. 

"It's  quite  good  enough  for  me,"  Blyden- 
burg  confided  to  his  companions,  and  the 
confidence  in  its  inelegant  terseness  conveyed 
the  sentiments  of  them  all. 

A  week  passed  without  bringing  with  it  any 
incident  worthy  of  record.  In  the  mornings 
they  met  at  the  Moorish  Pavilion  which  stands 
on  the  shore  and  there  lounged  or  bathed. 
Maida's  beauty  necessarily  attracted  much 
attention,  and  when  she  issued  in  a  floating 
wrapper  from  the  sedan-chair  in  which  she 
allowed  herself  to  be  carried  from  the  Pavilion 
to  the  sea,  a  number  of  amateurs  who  stood 
each  day  just  out  of  reach  of  the  waves,  ex 
pressed  their  admiration  in  winning  gutturals. 

She  was,  assuredly,  very  beautiful,  particu 
larly  so  in  comparison  with  the  powdered 
sallowness  of  the  ladies  from  Spain,  and 
when,  with  a  breezy  gesture  of  her  own,  she 
tossed  her  wrap  to  the  bather  and  with  san 
daled  feet  and  a  white  and  clinging  costume 
of  serge  she  stepped  to  the  water  there  was 
one  on-looker  who  bethought  him  of  a  nymph 
of  the  Aegean  Sea.  She  was  a  good  swim 
mer,  as  the  American  girl  often  is,  and  she 
breasted  and  dived  through  the  wonderful 
waves  with  an  intrepidity  such  as  the  accom- 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       73 

panying  baigncur  had  been  rarely  called  upon 
to  restrain. 

From  the  shade  of  beach  chairs,  large  and 
covered  like  wicker  tents,  her  husband  and 
the  Blydenburgs  would  watch  her  prowess, 
and  when,  after  a  final  ride  on  the  crest  of 
some  great  billow,  she  would  be  tossed  breath 
less  and  deliciously  disheveled  into  the 
steadying  arms  of  the  bather,  the  amateurs 
were  almost  tempted  to  applaud. 

In  the  afternoons  there  were  drives  and 
excursions.  One  day  to  Bayonne  along  the 
white,  hard  road  that  skirts  the  Chambre 
d* Amour,  through  the  peace  and  quiet  of 
Aiglet  and  on  through  kilometres  of  pines  to 
the  Adour,  a  river  so  beautiful  in  itself  that 
all  the  ingenuity  of  man  has  been  unable  to 
make  it  wholly  hideous,  and  thence  by  its 
banks  to  the  outlying  gardens  of  the  city. 

On  other  days  they  would  loiter  on  the 
cliffs  that  overhang  the  Cote  des  Basques,  or 
push  on  to  Bidart,  a  chromatic  village  where 
the  inhabitants  are  so  silent  that  one  might 
fancy  them  enchanted  by  the  mellow  marvels 
of  their  afternoons. 

But  of  all  other  places  Maida  preferred 
Saint  Jean-de-Luz.  It  lies  near  the  frontier 
on  a  bay  of  the  tenderest  blue,  and  for  back 
ground  it  has  the  hazy  amethyst  of  the  neigh- 


74      MR-  1XCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

borly  Pyrenees.  The  houses  are  rainbows  of 
blended  colors  ;  from  the  open  door-ways  the 
passer,  now  and  then,  catches  a  whiff  of 
rancid  oil,  the  smell  of  victuals  cooked  in 
fat,  from  a  mouldering  square  a  cathedral 
casts  an  unexpected  chill,  but  otherwise  the 
town  is  charming,  warm  and  very  bright.  On 
the  shore  stands  an  inn  and  next  to  it  a  toy 
casino. 

To  this  exotic  resort  the  little  party  drove 
one  afternoon.  It  had  been  originally  ar 
ranged  to  pass  the  day  there,  but  on  the  day 
for  which  the  excursion  was  planned,  a  Course 
Landaise  was  announced  at  Biarritz,  and  it 
was  then  decided  that  they  should  first  view 
the  course  and  dine  afterwards  at  Saint  Jean. 
At  first  both  Maida  and  Miss  Blydenburg 
refused  to  attend  the  performance  and  it  was 
not  until  they  were  assured  that  it  was  a  bull 
fight  for  ladies  in  which  there  was  no  shed 
ding  of  blood  that  they  consented  to  be 
present.  The  spectacle  which  they  then  wit 
nessed  was  voted  most  agreeable.  The  bulls, 
which  turned  out  to  be  heifers,  very  lithe  and 
excitable,  were  housed  in  boxed  stalls,  which 
bore  their  respective  names:  Isabel,  Rosa, 
Paquita,  Adelaide,  Carlota  and  Sofia.  The 
ring  itself  was  an  improvised  arrangement 
constructed  in  a  great  racquet  court.  The 


.)/A'.  INCOUL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       75 

spectators,  according  to  their  means,  found 
seats  on  either  side,  the  poorer  in  the  sun 
and  the  more  wealthy  in  the  shaded  Tribune 
d'Honneur.  After  a  premonitory  blare  from 
municipal  brass  the  quadrille  entered  the 
arena.  They  were  a  good-looking  set  of 
men,  more  plainly  dressed  than  their  bloodier 
brothers  of  Spain,  and  very  agile.  Two  of 
them  carrying  long  poles  stationed  them 
selves  at  the  sides,  one,  armed  with  a  barb 
laid  himself  down  a  few  feet  from  Isabel's 
door,  and  a  fourth  threw  his  soft  hat  in  the 
middle  of  the  ring,  put  his  feet  in  it  and 
stood  expectant.  In  a  moment  a  latch  was 
drawn,  Isabel  leaped  from  her  stall,  bounded 
over  the  prostrate  form  that  pricked  her  on 
her  way  and  made  a  straight  rush  for  the 
motionless  figure  in  the  centre  of  the  ring. 
When  she  reached  him  he  was  in  the  air  and 
over  her  with  his  feet  still  in  the  hat.  Isabel 
was  bewildered,  instead  of  goring  a  man  she 
had  run  her  horns  into  empty  space  and  in 
her  annoyance  she  turned  viciously  at  one  of 
the  pole-bearing  gentlemen  who  vaulted  over 
her  as  easily  as  were  he  crossing  a  gutter,  but 
in  vaulting  the  pole  slipped  from  him,  and 
amid  the  applause  of  the  audience  Isabel 
chased  him  across  the  ring  to  a  high  fence 
opposite,  and  to  which  he  rose  like  a  bird 


76      MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

with  Isabel's  horns  on  his  heels.  There  was 
more  of  this  amusement,  and  then  Isabel,  a 
trifle  tired,  was  lured  back  to  her  box  ;  Rosa 
was  loosed  and  the  performance  repeated. 

The  escapes  seemed  so  hairbreadth  that 
Mr.  Blydenburg  announced  his  intention  of 
witnessing  a  genuine  bull  fight,  and  on  the 
way  to  Saint  Jean  urged  his  companions  to 
accompany  him  over  the  border  and  view  the 
real  article.  "  There  is  one  announced  for 
next  Sunday,"  he  said,  "at  San  Sebastian,  a 
stone's  throw  from  here."  The  appetite  of 
all  had  been  whetted,  and  during  the  rest  of 
the  drive,  Mr.  Blydenburg  discoursed  on  the 
subject  with  such  learning  and  enthusiasm 
that  even  his  daughter  consented  to  forget 
her  Sabbath  principles  and  make  one  of  the 
projected  party. 

When  the  meal  was  done,  they  went  into 
the  toy  Casino.  There  was  a  band  playing  at 
one  end  of  the  hall,  the  which  was  so  narrow 
that  the  director  had  been  obliged  to  select 
thin  musicians,  and  beyond  was  a  paperless 
reading-room,  a  vague  cafe",  a  dwarf  theatre, 
and  a  salle-de-jeu  in  white  and  gamboge.  In 
the  latter  division,  where  the  high  life  of  Saint 
Jean  had  assembled,  stood  a  table  that  re 
sembled  a  roulette.  In  its  centre  were  min 
iature  revolving  bulls,  which  immediately 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       77 

attracted  Mr.  Blydenburg's  attention,  and  on 
the  green  baize  were  painted  the  names  of 
cities. 

"Banderilla!  Ruego  !  Sevilla  !"  the  crou 
pier  called,  as  the  party  entered.  In  one  hand 
he  held  a  rake,  with  which  he  possessed  him 
self  of  the  stakes  of  those  who  had  lost,  and 
with  the  other  hand  he  tossed  out  coin  to 
those  who  had  won.  The  machinery  was 
again  set  in  motion,  and  when  the  impulse 
had  ceased  to  act  he  called  out  anew,  "  Es- 
pada  !  Nero  !  Madrid  !  " 

Mr.  Blydenburg  was  thoroughly  interested 
In  the  residue  of  twenty-five  French  lessons, 
which  he  had  learned  in  his  boyhood  from  a 
German,  he  made  bold  to  demand  informa 
tion. 

"It's  the  neatest  game  in  the  world,"  the 
croupier  replied  ;  "six  for  one  on  the  cities, 
even  on  the  colors,  even  on  banderilla  or  es- 
pada,  and  twenty  for  one  on  Frascuelo." 
And,  as  he  gave  the  latter  information,  he 
pointed  to  a  little  figure  armed  with  a  sword, 
which  was  supposed  to  represent  that  famous 
matador.  "  The  minimum,"  he  added,  oblig 
ingly,  "is  fifty  centimes  ;  the  maximum,  forty 
sous." 

"  I  '11  go  Frascuelo,"  said  Blydenburg,  and 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  placed  a 


78      MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

coin  on  the  table.  Maida,  meanwhile,  had 
put  money  on  everything — cities,  colors, 
banderilla,  espada,  and  Frascuelo  as  well. 
To  the  surprise  of  every  one,  but  most  to 
that  of  the  croupier,  Frascuelo  won.  Maida 
saw  twenty  francs  swept  from  her  and  forty 
returned.  Blydenburg,  who  had  played  a 
closer  game,  received  forty  also,  but  he  lost 
nothing,  and  he  beamed  as  joyously  as  had 
the  University  of  Copenhagen  crowned  an 
essay  of  his  own  manufacture. 

It  was  by  means  of  these  mild  amusements 
that  the  first  week  of  their  sojourn  was 
helped  away.  Through  the  kindness  of  an 
international  acquaintance,  Mr.  Incoul  had 
been  made  welcome  at  the  Cercle  de  Biarritz, 
and  in  that  charming  summer  club,  where 
there  is  much  high  play  and  perfect  infor 
mality,  he  had  become  acquainted  with  a 
Spaniard,  the  Marquis  of  Zunzarraga. 

One  day  when  the  latter  gentleman  had 
wearied  of  the  columns  of  the  Epoca  and  Mr. 
Incoul,  and  sought  in  vain  for  some  refresh 
ment  from  Galignani,  they  drew  their  chairs 
together  and  exchanged  cigarettes. 

In  answer  to  the  question  which  is  ad 
dressed  to  every  new-comer,  Mr.  Incoul  ex 
pressed  himself  pleased  with  the  country, 
adding  that  were  not  hotel  life  always  dis- 


MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.        79 

tasteful  he  would  be  glad  to  remain  on 
indefinitely. 

"You  might  take  a  villa,"  the  marquis 
suggested.  To  this  Mr.  Incoul  made  no  re 
ply.  The  nobleman  fluttered  his  fingers  a 
moment  and  then  said,  4<  take  mine,  you  can 
have  it,  servants  and  all." 

The  Villa  Zunzarraga  was  near  the  hotel 
and  its  airy  architecture  had  already  at 
tracted  Mr.  Incoul's  eye.  It  was  a  modern 
improvement  on  a  feudal  chateau,  there  were 
turreted  wings  in  which  the  matchicoulis 
were  replaced  by  astrogals  and  a  broad  and 
double  stairway  of  marble  led  up  to  the  main 
entrance. 

"  If  you  have  nothing  better  to  do  to-day," 
the  marquis  continued,  "  go  in  and  take  a 
look  at  it.  I  have  never  rented  it  before,  but 
this  summer  the  marquesa  is  with  the  queen, 
my  mistress,  and  I  would  be  glad  to  have  it 
off  my  hands." 

After  consulting  Maida  in  regard  to  her 
wishes,  Mr.  Incoul  determined  to  act  on  the 
suggestion,  and  that  afternoon  they  went  to 
gether  to  view  the  villa.  In  its  appointments 
there  was  little  fault  to  be  found.  There  was 
no  vestibule,  unless,  indeed,  the  entrance  hall, 
which  was  large  enough  to  accommodate  a 
small  cotillon,  could  be  so  considered ;  on  the 


So       MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

right  were  reception-rooms,  to  the  left  a  din 
ing-room,  all  facing  the  sea,  while  at  the  rear, 
overlooking  a  quiet  garden  that  seemed  to 
extend  indefinitely  and  lose  itself  in  the  lilac 
fringes  of  the  tamaris,  was  a  library.  On  the 
floor  above  were  bed  and  sitting  rooms.  In 
one  wing  were  the  offices,  kitchen  and  serv 
ants'  quarters,  in  another  was  the  coach 
house  and  stables. 

Under  the  guidance  of  the  host,  Mr.  Incoul 
went  to  explore  the  place,  while  Maida  re 
mained  in  the  library.  It  was  a  satisfactory 
room,  lined  on  three  sides  with  low,  well-filled 
book-cases,  the  windows  were  doors  and  ex 
tended  nearly  to  the  ceiling,  but  the  light  fell 
through  pink  awnings  under  which  was  a 
verandah,  with  steps  that  led  to  the  garden 
below.  From  the  walls  hung  selections  of 
Goya's  Proverbios  and  Tauromaquia,  a  se 
ries  of  nightmares  in  black  and  white. 
Among  them  was  a  picture  of  a  lake  of  blood 
haunted  by  evil  spirits  ;  a  vertiginous  flight 
of  phantoms  more  horrible  than  any  Dore' 
ever  saw  ;  a  reunion  of  sorcerers  with  cats 
for  steeds  ;  women  tearing  teeth  from  the 
mouths  of  the  gibbeted  ;  a  confusion  of  de 
mons  and  incubes  ;  a  disordered  dance  of  de 
lirious  manolas  ;  caricatures  that  held  the 
soul  of  Hoffmann  ;  the  disembowelment  of 


MX.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.       81 

fantastic  chulos  ;  horses  tossed  by  bulls  with 
chimerical  horns  ;  but  best  of  all,  a  skeleton 
leaning  with  a  leer  from  the  tomb  and  scrawl 
ing  on  it  the  significant  legend,  Nada,  nothing. 

In  one  corner,  on  a  pedestal,  there  glit 
tered  a  Buddha,  the  legs  crossed  and  a  smile 
of  indolent  apathy  on  its  imbecile  features. 
Behind  it  was  a  giant  crucifix  with  arms  out 
stretched  like  the  wings  of  woe. 

Maida  wandered  from  book-case  to  book 
case,  examining  the  contents  with  incurious 
eye.  The  titles  were  strange  to  her  and  new. 
In  one  division  were  the  works  of  Archilaus, 
Albert  le  Grand,  Raymond  Lulle,  Armand  de 
Villenova,  Nostradamus,  and  Paracelsus,  the 
masters  of  occult  science.  Another  was  given 
up  to  Spanish  literature.  There  were  the 
poems  of  Berceo,  the  romancero  of  the  church ; 
the  codex  of  Alphonso  X.,  the  Justinian  of 
mediaeval  Spain  ;  El  Tesoro,  a  work  on  al 
chemy  by  the  same  royal  hand  and  the  Con- 
quista  d'ultramar.  There  was  the  Libro  de 
consejos,  by  Sanchez  IV.;  and  Bicerro,  the 
armorial  of  the  nobility,  by  his  son,  Alphonso 
XI.  Therewith  was  a  collection  of  verse  of 
the  troubadours,  the  songs  of  Aimeric  de 
Bellinsi,  Foulque  de  Lunel,  Carbonel,  Nat 
de  Tours,  and  Riquier,  the  last  of  the  knight- 
errants.  Then  came  the  poems  of  Juan  de 


82       MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

Mena,  the  Dante  of  Castille  ;  the  Rabelaisian 
relaxations  of  the  Archbishop  of  Hita  ;  the 
cancionero  of  Ausias  March,  that  of  Baena, 
of  Stufiiga,  and  that  of  Ixar. 

Another  book-case  was  filled  with  the 
French  poets,  from  Villon  to  Soulary.  The 
editions  were  delicious,  a  pleasure  to  hold, 
and  many  of  them  bore  the  imprint  of  Le- 
merre.  Among  them  was  the  Fleurs  du  Mai, 
an  unexpurgated  copy,  and  by  it  were  the 
poems  of  Baudelaire's  decadent  descendants, 
Paul  Verlaine  and  Mallarm£. 

There  were  other  book-cases,  and  of  these 
there  was  one  of  which  the  door  was  locked. 
In  it  were  Justine  and  Juliette,  by  the  Mar 
quis  de  Sade  ;  the  works  of  Piron  ;  the  works 
of  Beroalde  de  Verville  ;  a  copy  of  Mercius  ; 
a  copy  of  The"rese  Philosophe ;  the  De  Ar- 
canis  Amoris  ;  Mirabeau's  Rideau  leve  ;  Ga- 
maini,  by  Alfred  de  Musset  and  George 
Sand  ;  Boccaccio  ;  the  Heptameron  ;  Paphian 
Days;  Crebillon's  Sopha;  the  ErotikaBiblion; 
the  Satyricon  of  Petronius ;  an  illustrated 
catalogue  of  the  Naples  Museum ;  Voltaire's 
Pucelle;  a  work  or  two  of  Diderot's;  Mai- 
seroy's  Deux  Amies ;  the  Clouds  ;  the  Cure"e ; 
everything,  in  fact,  from  Aristophanes  to  Zola. 

The  collection  was  meaningless  to  Maida, 
and  she  turned  aside  and  went  out  on  the 


AfK.  INCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       83 

verandah.  Below,  on  the  gravel  walk,  was  a 
cat  with  a  tail  like  a  banner,  and  a  neck 
furred  like  a  ruff.  Maida  crumpled  a  bit  of 
paper  and  threw  it  down.  The  cat  jumped 
at  it  at  once,  toyed  with  it  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  sliding  backwards  with  a  crab-like  move 
ment,  its  back  arched,  and  its  ears  drawn 
down,  it  caught  a  glimpse  of  Maida's  unfamil 
iar  figure,  and  fled  to  the  bushes  with  a  shriek 
of  feigned  terror.  A  servant  passed,  and  igno 
rant  of  Maida's  presence,  apostrophized  the 
retreating  feline  as  a  loafer  and  a  liar. 

A  moment  later  Mr.  Incoul  and  the  mar 
quis  reappeared. 

"  I  have  been  admiring  your  Angora," 
Maida  said,  "but  I  fear  I  startled  it." 

The  marquis  rubbed  his  hands  together 
thoughtfully.  "  It  is  a  wonderful  animal,"  he 
answered,  "  but  it  is  not  an  Angora,  it  is  a 
Thibetian  cat,  and  though  it  does  not  talk,  at 
least  it  converses.  It  is  so  odd  in  its  ways 
that  I  called  it  Mistigris,  as  one  might  a 
familiar  spirit,  but  my  children  prefer  Ti-Mi  ; 
they  think  it  more  Thibetian,  I  fancy."  He 
coughed  slightly  and  looking  at  the  points  of 
his  fingers,  he  added,  "  I  will  leave  it  with  you 
of  course." 

And  then  Maida  understood  that  the  mat 
ter  was  settled  and  that  the  house  was  hers. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHAT    MAY    BE    SEEN    FROM    A    PALCO. 


installation  was  accomplished  with- 
out  difficulty.  The  marquis  migrated 
to  other  shores  and  it  took  Maida  but  a 
short  time  to  discover  the  pleasures  of  being 
luxuriously  housed.  The  apartment  which 
she  selected  for  herself  was  composed  of 
four  rooms  :  there  was  a  sitting-room  in  an 
angle  with  windows  overlooking  the  sea  and 
others  that  gave  on  a  quiet  street  which 
skirted  one  wing  of  the  villa.  Next  to  it 
was  a  bed-room  also  overlooking  the  street, 
while  back  of  that,  on  the  garden  side,  was  a 
bath  and  a  dressing-room.  A  wide  hall  that 
was  like  a  haunt  of  echoes  separated  these 
rooms  from  those  of  her  husband. 

Through  the  street,  which  was  too  steep  to 
be  much  of  a  thoroughfare,  there  came  each 
morning  the  clinging  strain  of  a  pastoral 
melody,  and  a  pipe-playing  goat-herd  would 
pass  leading  his  black,  long-haired  flock  to 
the  doors  of  those  who  bought  the  milk. 


MR.  INCO  (SL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       85 

When  he  had  gone  the  silence  was  stirred 
by  another  sound,  a  call  that  rose  and  fell 
with  exquisite  sweetness  and  died  away  in 
infinite  vibrations  :  it  came  from  a  little  old 
woman,  toothless  and  bent,  who,  with  sum 
mer  in  her  voice,  hawked  crisp  gold  bread  of 
crescent  shape,  vaunting  its  delicacy  in  bird- 
like  trills.  There  were  other  venders  who  an 
nounced  their  wares  in  similar  ways,  and  one,  a 
fisher,  chaunted  a  low  and  mournful  measure 
which  he  must  have  caught  from  the  sea. 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  waked  in  this  wise, 
Muida  thought,  and  as  she  lay  in  her  great 
bed  of  odorous  wood,  she  listened  to  the 
calls,  and  when  they  had  passed,  the  boom  and 
retreating  rustle  of  the  waves  occupied  and 
lulled  her.  In  such  moments  the  thoughts 
that  visited  her  were  impermanent  and  fleet 
ing.  She  made  no  effort  to  stay  them,  pre 
ferring  the  vague  to  the  outlined,  watching 
the  changes  and  transformations  of  fancy  as 
though  her  soul  and  she  were  separate,  as 
were  her  mind  a  landscape,  some 

Paysage  choisi, 

Que  vont  charmant  masques  et  bergamasques 
Jnnant  du  luth  et  dansant  et  quasi 
Tristes  sous  leurs  deguisements  fantasques. 

The  room  was  an  accomplice  of  her  lan 
guor.  The  windows  were  curtained  with  filmy 


S6       MR  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

yellow.  Before  them  were  miniature  bal 
conies  filled  with  flowers,  and  as  the  sun  rose 
the  light  filtered  through  flesh-colored  awn 
ings  striated  with  ochre.  The  floor  was  a 
mosaic  of  variegated  and  lacquered  wood. 
On  either  side  of  the  bed  were  silk  rugs,  sea 
green  and  pink,  seductive  to  the  foot ;  the 
ceiling  was  a  summer  sky  at  dawn,  a  fresco 
in  cinnabar  and  smalt. 

The  Blydenburgs,  less  luxuriously  in 
clined,  remained  at  the  hotel.  Mr.  Blyden- 
burg  had  not  as  yet  enjoyed  an  opportunity 
of  conversing  in  Basque  ;  he  had  indeed 
attempted  to  address  a  mildewed  little  girl 
whom  he  encountered  one  day  when  loi 
tering  on  the  cliffs,  but  the  child  had  taken 
flight,  and  a  mule  that  was  pasturing  on  a 
bramble,  threw  back  its  ears,  elongated  its  tail 
and  curving  its  lips,  brayed  with  such  an 
guish  that  Mr.  Blydenburg  was  fain  to  delay 
his  studies  until  fortune  offered  a  more  favor 
able  opportunity. 

It  was  at  San  Sebastian,  he  thought,  that 
such  an  opportunity  would  be  found  ready 
made,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  projected 
excursion  he  was  in  great  and  expectant 
spirits. 

The  morning  itself  was  one  of  those  de 
licious  forenoons  that  reminded  one  of  Ver- 


.I/A'.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       87 

onese.  In  the  air  was  a  caress  and  in  the 
breeze  an  exhilaration  and  a  tonic.  In  the 
streets  and  about  the  squares  there  was  an 
unusual  liveliness,  much  loud  talking,  a  great 
many  oaths,  and  the  irritation  and  excitement 
which  is  the  prelude  to  a  festival.  The  en 
tire  summer  colony  seemed  to  be  on  its  way 
to  Spain. 

In  the  court-yard  of  the  Villa  Zunzarraga 
four  horses  harnessed  to  a  landau  stood  in 
readiness.  On  the  box  the  driver  glistened 
with  smart  buttons  and  silver  braid.  His 
coat  was  short,  his  culottes  were  white,  his 
waistcoat  red,  and  he  had  made  himself 
operatic  with  the  galloons  and  trappings  of 
an  eighteenth-century  postilion.  It  was  not 
every  day  in  the  year  that  he  drove  to  a 
corrida.  By  way  of  preparation  for  the  com 
ing  spectacle,  Karl,  who  stood  at  the  carriage 
door,  had  already  engaged  a  palco. 

When  Blydenburg  and  Milly  arrived,  and 
the  party  had  entered  the  landau,  there  was  a 
brisk  drive  through  the  town  and  a  long 
sweep  down  the  Route  d'Espagne  than  which 
even  the  Corniche  is  not  more  lovely.  The 
vaporous  Pyrenees  seemed  near  enough  to 
be  in  reach  of  the  hand,  the  elms  that  lined 
the  roadside  were  monstrous,  like  the  elms  in 
a  Druid  forest,  the  fields  were  as  green  as 


88      MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

had  they  been  painted.  There  were  pink 
villas  with  blinds  of  pale  yellow,  white  houses 
roofed  with  tiles  of  mottled  red,  gardens 
splendid  with  the  scent  of  honeysuckle,  and 
children,  bright-eyed,  clear-featured,  devour 
ed  by  vermin  and  greed,  ran  out  in  a  bold, 
aggressive  way  and  called  for  coin. 

"  Estamos  en  Espana .'"  The  carriage  had 
come  to  a  sudden  halt.  In  the  beauties 
of  the  landscape  the  journey  had  been  for 
gotten.  But  at  the  driver's  word  there  came 
to  each  of  them  that  sudden  thrill  which 
visits  every  one  that  crosses  a  new  frontier. 
Blydenburg  looked  eagerly  about  him.  He 
had  expected  to  be  greeted  by  alcaldes  and 
alguacils,  he  had  fancied  that  he  would  view 
a  jota,  or  at  the  very  least  a  roadside  bolero. 
"Are  we  really  in  Spain  ?"  he  wondered.  In 
places  of  ladies  in  mantillas  and  short  skirts 
there  was  a  group  of  mangy  laborers,  the 
alcaldes  and  alguacils  were  represented  by  a 
sullen  aduenaro,  and  the  only  trace  of  local 
color  was  in  a  muttered  "  Corio  de  Dios" 
that  came  wearily  from  a  bystander.  Cer 
tainly  they  were  in  Spain. 

The  custom-house  officer  made  a  motion, 
and  the  carnage  swept  on.  To  the  left  was 
Fuenterrabia,  dozing  on  its  gulf  of  blue,  and 
soon  they  were  in  Irun.  There  was  another 


MK.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       89 

halt  for  lunch  and  a  change  of  horses,  and 
then,  on  again.  The  scenery  grew  wilder, 
and  the  carriage  jolted,  for  the  road  was 
poor.  They  passed  the  Jayzquibel,  the  Gam- 
churisqueta,  the  hamlet  of  Lezo,  Passaje, 
from  whence  Lafayette  set  sail ;  Renteria, 
a  city  outside  of  the  year  of  our  Lord ; 
they  crossed  the  Oyarzun,  they  passed  Alza, 
another  stream  was  bridged  and  at  last  the 
circus  hove  in  sight. 

The  bull-ring  of  San  Sebastian  is  suffi 
ciently  vast  for  a  battalion  to  manoeuvre  in 
at  its  ease.  It  is  circled  by  a  barrier  some 
five  feet  high,  back  of  which  is  another  and 
a  higher  one.  Between  the  two  is  a  narrow 
passage.  Above  the  higher  barrier  rise  the 
tendidos — the  stone  benches  of  the  amphi 
theatre — slanting  upwards  until  they  reach 
a  gallery,  in  which  are  the  gradas — the 
wooden  benches — and  directly  over  these, 
on  the  flooring  above,  are  the  palcos  or 
boxes.  Each  box  holds  twenty  people. 
They  are  all  alike  save  that  of  the  Presi 
dent's,  which  is  larger,  decorated  with  hang 
ings  and  furnished  with  chairs,  the  other 
boxes  having  only  seats  of  board.  Under 
the  President's  box,  and  beneath  the  tendi 
dos,  is  the  toril  from  which  the  bulls  are 
loosed.  Opposite,  across  the  arena,  is  the 


90       MR.  IX CO  UL'  S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

matedero,  the  gateway  through  which  the 
horses  enter  and  the  dead  are  dragged  out. 
In  the  passage  between  the  two  barriers  are 
stationed  the  "supes,"  who  cover  up  the 
blood,  unsaddle  dead  horses,  and  attend  to 
other  matters  of  a  similar  and  agreeable 
nature.  There,  too,  the  carpenters  stand 
ready  to  repair  any  injury  to  the  woodwork, 
and  among  them  is  a  man  in  black,  who  at 
times  issues  furtively  and  gives  a  coup  dc 
grace  to  a  writhing  beast.  There  also  are 
usually  a  few  privileged  amateurs  who  seek 
that  vantage  ground  much  as  the  dilettanti 
seek  the  side  scenes  of  the  theatre. 

These  arrangements,  which  it  takes  a  para 
graph  to  describe,  are  absorbed  at  a  glance, 
but  with  that  glance  there  comes  an  after 
shock — a  riot  of  color  that  would  take  a 
library  to  convey.  For  the  moment  the  eye 
is  dazzled  ;  a  myriad  of  multicolored  fans 
are  fluttering  like  fabulous  butterflies ;  there 
are  unimagined  combinations  of  insolent 
hues;  a  multitude  of  rainbows  oscillating  in 
a  deluge  of  light.  And  while  the  eye  is 
dazzled  the  ear  is  bewildered,  the  pulse  is 
stirred.  The  excitement  of  ten  thousand 
people  is  contagious  ;  the  uproar  is  as  deaf 
ening  as  the  thunder  of  cannon.  And  then, 
at  once,  almost  without  transition,  a  silence. 


MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       91 

The  President  has  come,  and  the  most  mag 
nificent  of  modern  spectacles  is  about  to 
begin. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  the  appear 
ance  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  town, 
the  Incouls  and  Blydenburgs  entered  their 
box.  There  was  a  blast  from  a  trumpet  and 
an  official  in  the  costume  known  as  that  of 
Henri  IV.  issued  on  horseback  from  the 
matedero.  The  ring  which  a  moment  before 
had  been  peopled  with  amateurs  was  emptied 
in  a  trice.  The  principal  actor,  the  espada, 
Mazzantini,  escorted  by  his  cuadrilla  and  fol 
lowed  by  the  picadors,  advanced  to  the  centre 
of  the  arena  and  there  amid  an  explosion  of 
bravos,  bowed  with  a  grace  like  that  which 
Talma  must  have  possessed,  first  to  the  Presi 
dent,  who  raised  his  high  hat  in  return,  and 
then  in  circular  wise  to  the  spectators. 

He  was  young  and  exceedingly  handsome, 
blue  of  eye  and  clear-featured ;  he  smiled  in 
the  contented  way  of  one  who  is  sure  of  his 
own  powers,  and  the  applause  redoubled. 
The  Basques  have  made  a  national  idol  of 
him,  for  by  birth  he  is  one  of  them  and  very 
popular  in  Guipuzcoa.  He  was  dressed  after 
the  fashion  of  Figaro  in  the  "Barbiere,"  his 
knee  breeches  were  of  vermilion  silk  seamed 
with  a  broad  spangle,  his  stockings  were  of 


92       MR.  IN  CO  UL  S  MIS  A  D  VENTURE. 

flesh  color,  he  wore  a  short,  close-fitting 
jacket,  richly  embroidered  ;  the  vest  was 
very  low  but  gorgeous  with  designs  ;  about 
his  waist  was  a  scarlet  sash  ;  his  shoulders 
were  heavy  with  gold  and  on  his  head  was  a 
black  pomponed  turban,  the  torero  variety  of 
the  Tarn  O'Shanter.  His  costume  had  been 
imitated  by  the  chulos  and  banderilleros. 
Nothing  more  seductive  could  be  imagined. 
They  were  all  of  them  slight,  lithe  and  agile, 
and  behind  them  the  picadors  in  the  Moorish 
splendor  of  their  dress  looked  like  giants  on 
horseback. 

The  President  dropped  from  his  box  the 
key  of  the  toril.  The  alguacil  is  supposed 
to  catch  it  in  his  hat,  but  in  this  instance  he 
muffed  it ;  it  was  picked  up  by  another  ;  the 
alguacil  fled  from  the  ring,  the  picadors  sta 
tioned  themselves  lance  in  hand  at  equal  dis 
tances  about  the  barrier,  the  chulos  prepared 
their  mantles,  there  was  a  ringing  fanfare,  the 
doors  of  the  toril  flew  open,  and  a  black 
monster  with  the  colors  of  his  ganadcria 
fastened  to  his  neck  shot  into  the  arena. 

If  he  hesitated  no  one  knew  it.  There 
was  a  confused  mass  of  horse,  bull  and  man, 
he  was  away  again,  another  picador  was 
down,  and  then  attracted  by  the  waving  cloak 
of  a  chulo  he  turned  and  chased  it  across 


MR,  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.       93 

the  ring.  The  chulo  was  over  the  fence  in  a 
second,  and  the  bull  rose  like  a  greyhound 
and  crossed  it,  too.  Truly  a  magnificent 
beast.  The  supes  and  amateurs  were  in  the 
ring  in  an  instant  and  back  again  when  the 
bull  had  passed.  A  door  was  opened,  and 
surging  again  into  the  ring  he  swept  like  an 
avalanche  on  a  picador,  and  raising  him  horse 
and  all  into  the  air  flung  him  down  as  it 
seemed  into  the  very  pits  of  death.  The 
picador  was  under  the  horse  and  the  bull's 
horns  were  seeking  him,  but  the  brute  reckoned 
without  the  espada.  Mazzantini  had  caught 
him  by  the  tail,  which  he  twisted  in  such  ex 
quisite  fashion  that  he  was  fain  to  turn,  and 
as  he  turned  the  espada  turned  with  him. 
The  chulos  meanwhile  raised  the  picador  over 
the  barrier,  for  his  legs  and  loins  were  so 
heavy  with  iron  that  once  down  he  could  not 
rise  unassisted.  Across  the  arena  a  horse  lay 
quivering  in  a  bath  of  gore,  his  feet  entangled 
in  his  entrails,  and  another,  unmounted,  stag 
gered  along  dyeing  the  sand  with  zigzags  of 
the  blood  that  spouted,  fountain-like,  from  his 
breast.  And  over  all  was  the  tender  blue  of 
the  sky  of  Spain. 

When  Mazzantini  loosed  his  hold,  he  stood 
a  moment,  folded  his  arms,  gave  the  bull  a 
glance  of  contempt,  turned  on  his  heel  and 


94       MX.  IX  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

sauntered  away.  The  applause  was  such  as 
no  cabotin  has  ever  received.  It  was  the  de 
lirious  plaudits  of  ten  thousand  people  drunk 
with  the  sun,  with  excitement — intoxicated 
with  blood.  Mazzantini  bowed  as  calmly  as 
were  he  a  tenor,  whose  uf  de  poitrine  had 
found  appreciation  in  the  stalls.  And  while 
the  applause  still  lasted,  the  bull  caught  the 
staggering,  blindfolded,  unprotected  horse 
and  tossed  him  sheer  over  the  barrier,  and 
would  have  jumped  after  him  had  he  not 
perceived  a  fourth  picador  ambling  cautiously 
with  pointed  lance.  At  him  he  made  a  fresh 
rush,  but  the  picador's  lance  was  in  his  neck 
and  held  him  away.  He  broke  loose,  how 
ever,  and  with  an  under  lunge  disemboweled 
the  shuddering  horse. 

There  was  another  blast  of  the  trumpets, 
the  signal  for  the  banderilleros  whose  office 
it  is  to  plant  barbs  in  the  neck  of  the  bull — a 
delicate  operation,  for  the  banderillero  must 
face  the  bull,  and  should  he  trip  he  is  dead. 
This  ceremony  is  seldom  performed  until  the 
bull  shows  signs  of  weariness  ;  then  the  barbs 
act  like  a  tonic.  In  this  instance  the  bull 
seemed  as  fresh  as  were  he  on  his  native 
heath,  and  the  spectators  were  clamorous  in 
their  indignation.  They  called  for  more 
horses ;  they  accused  the  management  of 


J/A*.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE,      pj 

economy ;  men  stood  up  and  shook  their 
fists  at  the  President ;  it  was  for  him  to  order 
out  fresh  steeds,  and,  as  he  sat  impassible, 
politic  verso,  as  one  may  say,  they  shouted 
"  Fuego  a  I  prcsidente,  pcrro  de  presidents" 
— dog  of  a  president ;  set  him  on  fire.  And 
there  were  cat-calls  and  the  screech  of  tin 
horns,  and  resounding  and  noisy  insults,  until 
the  general  attention  was  diverted  by  the 
pose  of  the  banderillas  and  the  leaping  and 
kicking  of  the  bull,  seeking  to  free  his  neck 
from  the  torturing  barbs.  At  last,  when  he 
had  been  punctured  eight  times,  he  sought 
the  centre  of  the  ring,  and  stood  there  almost 
motionless,  his  tufted  tail  swaying  nervously, 
his  tongue  lolling  from  his  mouth,  a  mist  of 
vapor  circling  from  his  nostrils,  seething 
about  his  splendid  horns  and  wrinkled  neck, 
and  in  his  great  eyes  a  look  of  wonder,  as 
though  amazed  that  men  could  be  crueler 
than  he. 

Again  the  trumpets  sounded.  Mazzantini, 
with  a  sword  concealed  in  a  muleta  of  bright 
scarlet  silk,  and  accompanied  by  the  chulos, 
approached  him.  The  chulos  flaunted  their 
vivid  cloaks,  and  when  the  bull,  roused  by 
the  hated  colors  to  new  indignation,  turned 
to  chase  them,  they  slipped  aside  and  in 
the  centre  of  the  ring  stood  a  young  man 


96       MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

dressed  as  airily  as  a  dancer  in  a  ballet,  in  a 
costume  that  a  pin  would  have  perforated,  and 
before  him  a  maddened  and  a  gigantic  brute. 

In  a  second  the  bull  was  on  him,  but  in 
that  second  a  tongue  of  steel  leaped  from  the 
muleta,  glittered  like  a  silver  flash  in  the  air, 
and  straight  over  the  lowered  horns  it  swept 
and  then  cleaved  down  through  the  parting 
flesh  and  touched  the  spring  of  life.  At  the 
very  feet  of  the  espada  the  bull  fell  ;  he  had 
not  lost  a  drop  of  blood  ;  it  was  the  supreme 
expression  of  tauromaquia,  the  recognition 
that  skill  works  from  force. 

And  then  the  applause !  There  was  a 
whirl  of  hats  and  cigars  and  cigarettes,  and 
had  San  Sabastian  been  richer  there  would 
have  been  a  shower  of  coin.  Women  kissed 
their  hands  and  men  held  out  their  arms  to 
embrace  him.  It  was  the  delirium  of  appre 
ciation.  And  Mazzantini  saluted  and  bowed 
and  smiled.  He  was  quite  at  home,  and 
calmer  and  more  tranquil  than  any  spectator. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  rush  of  caparisoned 
mules,  ropes  were  attached  to  the  dead 
horses,  the  bull  was  dragged  out,  the  blood 
was  concealed  with  sand,  the  toilet  of  the 
ring  was  made,  the  trumpets  sounded  and 
the  last  act  of  the  first  of  the  wonderful 
cycle  of  dramas  was  done. 


MK.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.       97 

There  were  five  more  bulls  to  be  killed 
that  day,  but  with  their  killing  the  action 
with  which  these  pages  have  to  deal  need  not 
be  further  delayed.  From  the  box  in  the 
sombra  Mr.  Incoul  had  watched  the  spectacle 
with  unemotional  curiosity.  Blydenburg, 
who  had  fortified  himself  with  the  contents 
of  a  pocket  flask,  manifested  his  earliest  de 
light  by  shouting  Bravo,  but  with  such  a  dis 
regard  of  the  first  syllable,  and  such  an  ex 
plosion  of  the  second,  that  Mr.  Incoul 
mistaking  the  applause  for  an  imitation  of 
the  bark  of  a  dog  had  at  last  begged  him  to 
desist. 

The  adjoining  box  was  crowded,  and 
among  the  occupants  was  a  delicious  young 
girl,  with  the  Orient  in  her  eyes,  and  lips  that 
said  Drink  me.  To  her  the  spectacle  was 
evidently  one  of  alluring  pathos.  "Pobrc 
caballo"  she  would  murmur  when  a  horse 
fell,  and  then  with  her  fan  she  would  hide 
the  bridge  of  her  nose  as  though  that  were 
her  organ  of  vision.  But  no  matter  how 
high  the  fan  might  be  raised  she  always  man 
aged  to  see,  and  with  the  seeing  there  came 
from  her  compassionate  little  noises,  a  min 
gling  of  "  ay  "  and  "  Dios  mio,"  that  was  most 
agreeable  to  listen  to.  Miss  Blydenburg, 
who  sat  so  near  her  that  she  might  have 


9$      MR.  INCOUL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

touched  her  elbow,  took  these  little  noises 
for  signals  and  according  to  their  rise  and 
fall  learned  when  and  when  not  to  look 
down  into  the  terrible  ring  below. 

In  the  momentary  intermission  that  oc 
curred  after  the  duel  between  theespadaand 
the  first  bull,  a  mozo,  guided  by  Karl,  ap 
peared  in  the  box  bearing  with  him  cool 
liquids  from  the  caverns  beneath.  Blyden- 
burg,  whose  throat  was  parched  with  brandy 
and  the  strain  of  his  incessant  shouts,  swal 
lowed  a  naranjada  at  a  gulp.  Mr.  Incoul 
declined  to  take  anything,  but  the  ladies 
found  much  refreshment  in  a  concoction  of 
white  almonds  which  affects  the  tonsils  as 
music  affects  the  ear. 

It  was  not  until  this  potion  had  been  ab 
sorbed  that  Maida  began  to  take  any  notice 
able  interest.  She  had  been  fatigued  by  the 
drive,  enervated  by  the  heat,  and  the  noise 
and  clamor  was  certainly  not  in  the  nature  of 
a  sedative.  But  the  almonds  brought  her 
comfort.  She  changed  her  seat  from  the  rear 
of  the  box  to  the  front,  and  sat  with  one  arm 
on  the  balustrade,  her  hand  supporting  her 
delicate  chin,  and  as  her  eyes  followed  the 
prowess  of  the  bull  she  looked  like  some  fair 
Pasiphae  in  modern  guise. 

It  must  have  been  the  novelty  of  the  scene 


MK.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.       pp 

that  interested  her.  The  light,  the  unusual 
and  brilliant  costumes,  the  agility  of  the 
actors,  and  the  wonder  of  the  sky,  entered, 
probably,  as  component  parts  into  any  pleas 
ure  that  she  experienced.  Certainly  it  could 
have  been  nothing  else,  for  she  was  quick  to 
avert  her  eyes  whenever  blood  seemed  immi 
nent.  The  second  bull,  however,  was  far 
less  active  than  the  first.  He  had  indeed 
accomplished  a  certain  amount  of  destruc 
tion,  but  his  attacks  were  more  perfunctory 
than  angered,  and  it  was  not  until  he  had 
been  irritated  by  the  colored  barbs  that  he 
displayed  any  lively  sense  of  resentment. 
Then  one  of  the  banderilleros  showed  himself 
either  awkward  or  timid  ;  he  may  have  been 
both  ;  in  any  event  his  success  was  slight,  and 
as  the  Spanish  audience  is  not  indulgent,  he 
was  hissed  and  hooted  at.  "  Give  him  a 
pistol,"  cried  some — the  acme*  of  sarcasm— 
"Torero  de  las  marinas,"  cried  others.  He 
was  offered  a  safe  seat  in  the  tendidos.  One 
group  adjured  the  President  to  order  his  in 
stant  imprisonment.  One  might  have  thought 
that  the  tortures  of  the  Inquisition  could  not 
be  too  severe  for  such  a  lout  as  he. 

Maida,  who  was  ignorant  of  the  duties  of 
a  banderillero,  looked  down  curiously  at  the 
gesticulating  crowd  below.  The  cause  of 


ioo     MR.  IN  CO  UL  S  MISA  D  VEN  T  URE. 

their  indignation  she  was  unable  to  discover, 
and  was  about  to  turn  to  Mr.  Blydenburg  for 
information,  when  there  came  a  singing  in 
her  ears.  The  question  passed  unuttered 
from  her  thoughts.  The  ring,  the  people, 
the  sky  itself  had  vanished.  Near  the  toril, 
on  a  bench  of  stone,  was  Lenox  Leigh. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  GUEST. 

/^RADUALLY  the  whirling  ceased,  the 
^*  singing  left  her  ears.  Leigh  raised  his 
hat  and  Maida  bowed  in  return.  His  eyes 
lingered  on  her  a  moment,  and  then  he 
turned  and  disappeared. 

"A  friend  of  mine,  Mr.  Leigh,  is  down 
there,"  the  girl  announced.  Her  husband 
looked  over  the  rail.  "  He 's  gone,"  she 
added.  "  I  fancy  he  is  coming  up  here." 

"Who's  coming?"  Blydenburg  inquired, 
for  he  had  caught  the  words. 

"A  friend  of  my  wife's,"  Mr.  Incoul  an 
swered.  "A  man  named  Leigh — do  you 
know  him?" 

"  Mrs.  Manhattan's  brother,  isn't  he  ?  No, 
I  don't  know  him,  but  Milly  does,  I  think. 
Don't  you,  Milly?" 

Milly  waved  her  head  vaguely.  She  in 
deed  knew  the  young  man  in  question,  but 
she  was  not  over-confident  that  he  had  ever 
been  more  than  transiently  aware  of  her 


102     MR.  INCOUL' S  MISADVENTURE. 

maidenly  existence.  She  had,  however,  no 
opportunity  to  formulate  her  uncertainty  in 
words.  There  was  a  rap  on  the  door  and 
Leigh  entered. 

Mr.  Incoul  rose  as  becomes  a  host.  The 
young  man  bowed  collectively  to  him  and  the 
Blydenburgs.  He  touched  Maida's  hand  and 
found  a  seat  behind  her.  A  bull-fight  differs 
from  an  opera  in  many  things,  but  particu 
larly  in  this,  that  there  may  be  exclamations, 
but  there  is  no  attempt  at  continuous  con 
versation.  Lenox  Leigh,  though  not  one  to 
whom  custom  is  law,  said  little  during  the  rest 
of  the  performance.  Now  and  then  he  bent 
forward  to  Maida,  but  whatever  he  may  have 
said  his  remarks  were  fragmentary  and 
casual.  This  much  Miss  Blydenburg  noticed, 
and  she  noticed  also  that  Maida  appeared 
more  interested  in  her  glove  than  in  the  spec 
tacle  in  the  ring. 

When  the  sixth  and  last  bull  had  been 
vanquished  and  the  crowd  was  leaving  the 
circus,  Mr.  Incoul  turned  to  his  guest,  "  We 
are  to  dine  at  the  Inglaterra,  will  you  not 
join  us  ?" 

"Thank  you,"  Lenox  answered,  "I  shall 
be  glad  to.  I  came  here  in  the  train  and  I 
have  had  nothing  since  morning.  I  have 
been  ravenous  for  hours,  so  much  so,"  he 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.     JOJ 

added  lightly,  "  that  I  have  been  trying  to 
poison  my  hunger  by  thinking  of  the  dishes 
that  I  dislike  the  most,  beer  soup,  for  in- 
instance,  stewed  snails,  carp  cooked  in 
sweetmeats  or  unseasoned  salads  of  cactus 
hearts." 

"  I  don't  know,"  Mr.  Incoul  answered 
gravely,  "I  don't  know  what  we  will  have 
to-night.  The  dinner  was  ordered  last  week. 
They  may  have  cooked  it  then." 

"  Possibly  they  did.  On  a  fiesta  San 
Sebastian  is  impossible.  There  are  seven 
thousand  strangers  here  to-day  and  the  ac 
commodations  are  insufficient  for  a  third  of 
them." 

"  I  want  to  know — "  exclaimed  Blydenburg, 
always  anxious  for  information.  They  had 
moved  out  of  the  box  and  aided  by  the 
crowd  were  drifting  slowly  down  the  stair. 

At  the  salida  Karl  stood  waiting  to  con 
duct  them  to  the  carriage. 

"  If  you  will  get  in  with  the  ladies,"  said 
Mr.  Incoul,  "  Blydenburg  and  myself  will 
walk.  The  hotel  can't  be  far." 

To  this  proposal  the  young  man  objected. 
He  had  been  sitting  all  day,  he  explained, 
and  preferred  to  stretch  his  legs.  He  may 
have  had  other  reasons,  but  if  he  had  he  said 
nothing  of  them.  At  once,  then,  it  was 


104     MR-  IN  CO  UL'S  MIS  AD  VENTURE. 

arranged  that  the  ladies,  under  Karl's  pro 
tection,  should  drive  to  the  Inglaterra,  and 
that  the  others  should  follow  on  foot. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  entire  party  were 
seated  at  a  table  overlooking  the  Concha. 
The  sun  had  sunk  into  the  ocean  as  though 
it  were  imbibing  an  immense  blue  syrup.  On 
either  side  of  the  bay  rose  miniature  mount 
ains,  Orgullo  and  Igueldo  tiara'd  with  for 
tresses  and  sloped  with  green.  To  the  right 
in  the  distance  was  a  great  unfinished  casino, 
and  facing  it,  beneath  Orgullo,  was  a  cluster 
of  white  ascending  villas.  The  dusk  was 
sudden.  The  sky  after  hesitating  between 
salmon  and  turquoise  had  chosen  a  lapis 
lazuli,  which  it  changed  to  indigo,  and  with 
that  for  flooring  the  stars  came  out  and 
danced. 

The  dinner  passed  off  very  smoothly.  In 
spite  of  his  boasted  hunger,  Lenox  ate  but 
sparingly.  He  was  frugal  as  a  Spaniard,  and 
in  the  expansion  which  the  heavy  wine  of  the 
country  will  sometimes  cause,  Mr.  Blyden- 
burg  declared  that  he  looked  like  one.  Each 
of  the  party  had  his  or  her  little  say  about 
the  corrida  and  its  emotions,  and  Blydenburg, 
after  discoursing  with  much  learning  on  the 
subject,  declared,  to  whomsoever  would  listen, 
that  for  his  part  he  regretted  the  gladiators 


MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VEN  TURE.     105 

of  Rome.  As  a  topic,  the  bull  fight  was  in 
exhaustible.  Every  thread  of  conversation 
led  back  to  it,  and  necessarily,  in  the  course 
of  the  meal,  Lenox  was  asked  how  it  was 
that  he  happened  to  be  present. 

"  I  arrived  at  Biarritz  from  Paris  last 
night,"  he  explained,  "and  when  I  learned 
this  morning  that  there  was  to  be  a  bull-fight, 
I  was  not  in  a  greater  hurry  to  do  anything 
else  than  to  buy  a  ticket  and  take  the  train." 

"Was  it  crowded  ?"  Blydenburg  asked  in 
his  florid  way. 

"Rather.  It  was  comfortable  enough  till 
we  reached  Irun,  but  there  I  got  out  for  a 
Spanish  cigar,  and  when  I  returned,  the  train 
was  so  packed  that  I  was  obliged  to  utilize  a 
first-class  ticket  in  a  third-class  car.  None 
of  the  people  who  lunched  at  the  buffet  were 
able  to  get  back.  I  suppose  three  hundred 
were  left.  There  was  almost  a  riot.  The 
station-master  said  that  Irun  was  the  head  of 
the  line,  and  to  reserve  a  seat  one  must  sit  in 
it.  Of  course  those  who  had  seats  were 
hugely  amused  at  those  who  had  none.  One 
man,  a  Frenchman,  bullied  the  station-master 
dreadfully.  He  said  it  was  every  kind  of  an 
outrage  ;  that  he  ought  to  put  on  more  cars  ; 
that  he  was  incompetent ;  that  he  was  imbe 
cile  ;  that  he  did  n't  know  his  business.  '  It  s 


io6     MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

the  law,' said  the  station-master.  'I  don't 
care  that  for  your  law  !'  cried  the  Frenchman. 
'But  the  Prefet,  sir.'  'To  blazes  with  your 
Preset !'  But  that  was  too  strong.  The 
Frenchman  might  abuse  what  he  saw  fit,  but 
the  Prefet  evidently  was  sacred.  I  suppose 
it  was  treasonable  to  speak  of  him  in  that 
style.  In  any  event,  the  station-master  called 
up  a  file  of  soldiers  and  had  the  Frenchman 
led  away.  The  on-lookers  were  simply  frantic 
with  delight.  If  the  Frenchman  had  only 
been  shot  before  their  eyes  it  would  indeed 
have  been  a  charming  prelude  to  a  bull 
fight."  And  then  with  an  air  that  suggested 
retrospects  of  unexpressed  regret,  he  added 
pensively,  "  I  have  never  seen  a  man  shot." 

"  No  ?"  said  Milly,  boldly ;  "  no  more  have 
I.  Not  that  I  want  to,  though,"  she  hastened 
to  explain.  "  It  must  be  horrid." 

Lenox  looked  up  at  her  and  then  his  eyes 
wandered  to  Maida,  and  rested  caressingly 
in  her  own.  But  the  caress  was  transient. 
Immediately  he  turned  and  busied  himself 
with  his  plate. 

"Are  you  to  be  in  Biarritz  long?"  Mr. 
Incoul  asked.  The  tone  was  perfectly  court 
eous,  friendly,  even,  but  at  the  moment  from 
the  very  abruptness  of  the  question  Lenox 
feared  that  the  caress  had  been  intercepted 


MR.  INCOUL' S  MISADVENTURE.     107 

and  something  of  the  mute  drama  divined. 
Mentally  he  arranged  Mr.  Incoul  as  one  con 
stantly  occupied  in  repeating  J'ai  de  ban  ta- 
/></<-,  ///  ncn  auras  pas,  and  it  was  his  design 
to  disarm  that  gentleman  of  any  suspicion  he 
might  harbor  that  his  good  tobacco,  in  this 
instance  at  least,  was  an  envied  possession  or 
one  over  which  he  would  be  called  to  play 
the  sentinel.  The  role  of  man  sage  was  fre 
quent  enough  on  the  Continent,  but  few  knew 
better  than  Lenox  Leigh  that  it  is  rarely 
enacted  in  the  States,  and  his  intuitions  had 
told  him  long  before  that  it  was  one  for  which 
Mr.  Incoul  was  ill  adapted.  Yet  between  the 
mari  sage  and  the  suspicionless  husband  there 
is  a  margin,  and  it  was  on  that  margin  that 
Lenox  determined  that  Mr.  Incoul  should 
tread.  "  No,"  he  answered  at  once,  and  with 
out  any  visible  sign  of  preoccupation.  "  No, 
a  day  or  two  at  most ;  I  am  on  my  way  to  An- 
dalucia." 

Blydenburg,  as  usual,  was  immediately  in 
terested.  "  It 's  very  far,  is  n't  it  ?"  he  panted. 

"  Not  so  far  as  it  used  to  be.  Nowadays  one 
can  go  all  the  way  in  a  sleeping  car.  Gau- 
tier,  who  discovered  it,  had  to  go  in  a  stage 
coach,  which  must  have  been  tedious.  But 
in  spite  of  the  railways  the  place  is  pretty 
much  the  same  as  it  has  been  ever  since  the 


loS   MR.  IN  co  UL:  s  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

Middle  Ages.  Even  the  cholera  has  been  un 
able  to  banish  the  local  color.  There  are 
trains  in  Seville  precisely  as  there  are  steam 
boats  on  the  Grand  Canal.  But  the  sky  is 
the  same,  and  in  the  Sierra  Morena  there  are 
still  Moors  and  as  yet  no  advertisements." 

"  You  have  been  there  then  ?" 

'*  Yes,  I  was  there  some  years  ago.  You 
ought  to  go  yourself.  I  know  of  nothing  so 
fabulous  in  its  beauty.  It  is  true  I  was  there 
in  the  spring,  but  the  autumn  ought  not  to  be 
a  bad  time  to  go.  The  country  is  parched 
perhaps,  but  then  you  would  hardly  camp 
out." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Incoul  ?"  Blydenburg 
asked.  "  Would  n't  you  like  it  ?"  he  inquired 
of  Maida. 

"  I  could  tell  better  when  we  get  there," 
she  answered  ;  "  but  we  might  go,"  she  added, 
looking  at  her  husband. 

"Why,"  said  Blydenburg,  "we  could  see 
Madrid  and  Burgos  and  Valladolid.  It 's  all 
in  the  way." 

Lenox  interrupted  him.  "  They  are  tire 
some  cities  though,  and  gloomy  to  a  degree. 
Valladolid  and  Burgos  are  like  congeries  of 
deserted  prisons,  Madrid  is  little  different 
from  any  other  large  city.  Fuenterrabia, 
next  door  here,  is  a  thousand  times  more  in- 


AfK.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.     log 

teresting.  It  is  Cordova  you  should  visit 
and  Ronda  and  Granada  and  Sevilla  and  Ca- 
dix."  And,  as  he  uttered  the  names  of  these 
cities,  he  aromatized  each  of  them  with  an 
accent  that  threw  Blydenburg  into  stupors 
of  admiration.  Pronounced  in  that  way  they 
seemed  worth  visiting  indeed. 

"  Which  of  them  do  you  like  the  best  ?" 
"I  liked  them  all,"  Lenox  answered,  "I 
liked  each  of  them  best." 

"  But  which  is  the  most  beautiful  ?" 
"  That  depends  on  individual  taste.     I  pre 
fer  Ronda,  but  Grenada,  I  think,  is  most  ad 
mired.     If  you  will  let  me,  I  will  quote  a 
high  authority  : 

"  '  Grenade  efface  en  tout  ses  ri vales ;  Grenade 
Chante  plus  mollement  la  molle  serenade  : 
Kile  peint  ses  maisons  des  plus  riches  couleurs, 
Et  Ton  dit,  que  les  vents  suspendent  leurs  haleines, 
Quand,  par  un  soir  d'et6,  Grenade  dans  ses  plaines, 
Repand  ses  femmes  et  ses  fleurs.'" 

In  private  life,  verse  is  difficult  of  recita 
tion,  but  Lenox  recited  well.  He  made  such 
music  of  the  second  line  that  there  came 
with  his  voice  the  sound  of  guitars ;  the 
others  he  delivered  with  the  vowels  full  as 
one  hears  them  at  the  Comedie,  and  therewith 
was  a  little  pantomime  so  explanatory  and 
suggestive  that  Blydenburg,  whose  knowl 
edge  of  French  was  of  the  most  rudimentary 


no     MR.  IN  CO  ULS  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

description,  understood  it  all,  and,   in  con- 
sequence,  liked  the  young  man  the  better. 

The  dinner  was  done,  and  they  moved  out 
on  the  terrace.  The  moon  had  chased  the 
stars,  the  Concha  glittered  with  lights,  and 
before  the  hotel  a  crowd  circled  in  indolent 
coils  as  though  wearied  with  the  holiday. 
There  were  many  people,  too,  on  the  terrace, 
and  in  passing  from  the  dining-room  the 
little  party,  either  by  accident  or  design,  got 
cut  in  twain.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
spring  evening,  Maida  and  Lenox  were 
alone.  Their  solitude,  it  is  true,  was  public, 
but  that  mattered  little. 

Maida  utilized  the  earliest  moment  by 
asking  her  companion  how  he  got  there. 
"  You  should  not  have  spoken  to  me,"  she 
added,  before  he  could  have  answered. 

"Maida!" 

"  No,  you  must  go,  you — " 

"But  I  only  came  to  find  you,"  he  whis 
pered. 

"  To  find  me  ?  How  did  you  know  where 
I  was  ?" 

"The  Morning  News  told  me.  I  was  in 
Paris,  on  my  way  to  Baden,  for  I  heard  you 
were  there,  and  then,  of  course,  when  I  saw 
in  the  paper  that  you  were  here,  I  followed 
after." 


MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE,     in 

"Then  you  are  not  going  to  Andalucia  ?" 

"  No,  not  unless  you  do." 

The  girl  wrung  her  hand.  "Oh,  Lenox, 
do  go  away  !" 

"I  can't,  nor  do  you  wish  it.  You  must 
let  me  see  you.  I  will  come  to  you  to 
morrow — he  has  an  excellent  voice,  not  so 
full  as  Gayarre"'s,  but  his  method  is  better." 

Mr.  Incoul  had  suddenly  approached 
them,  and  as  suddenly  Lenox's  tone  had 
changed.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  he 
was  relating  the  merits  of  a  tenor. 

"  The  carriage  is  here,"  said  Maida's  hus 
band,  "  we  must  be  going ;  I  am  sorry  we 
can't  offer  you  a  seat,  Mr.  Leigh,  we  are  a 
trifle  crowded  as  it  is." 

"Thank  you,  you  are  very  kind.  The 
train  will  take  me  safely  enough." 

He  walked  with  them  to  the  carriage,  and 
aided  Maida  to  enter  it.  Karl,  who  had  been 
standing  at  the  door,  mounted  to  the  box. 
When  all  were  seated,  Mr.  Incoul  added  : 
"You  must  come  and  see  us." 

"  Yes,  come  and  see  us,  too,"  Blydenburg 
echoed.  "  By  the  way,  where  are  you  stop 
ping  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so,"  Lenox  an 
swered;  "I  am  at  the  Grand."  He  raised 
his  hat  and  wished  them  a  pleasant  drive. 


112     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

The  moon  was  shining  full  in  his  face,  and 
Miss  Blydenburg  thought  him  even  hand 
somer  than  Mazzantini.  His  good  wishes 
were  answered  in  chorus,  Karl  nudged  the 
driver,  and  in  a  moment  the  carriage  swept 
by  and  left  him  standing  in  the  road. 

"  What  a  nice,  frank  fellow  he  is,"  Blyden 
burg  began  ;  "  so  different  from  the  general 
run  of  young  New  Yorkers.  There,  I  forgot 
to  tell  him  I  knew  his  sister;  I  am  sorry,  it 
would  have  seemed  sort  of  friendly,  made  him 
feel  more  at  home,  do  n't  you  think  ?  Not 
but  that  he  seemed  perfectly  at  his  ease  as  it 
was.  I  wonder  why  he  does  n't  marry  ? 
None  of  those  Leighs  have  money,  have 
they  ?  He  could  pick  up  an  heiress,  though,  in 
no  time,  if  he  wanted  to.  Perhaps  he  prefers 
to  be  a  bachelor.  If  he  does  I  do  n't  blame 
him  a  bit,  a  good-looking  young  fellow — " 

And  so  the  amiable  gentleman  rambled 
on.  After  a  while  finding  that  the  reins  of 
conversation  were  solely  in  his  own  hands, 
he  took  the  fullest  advantage  of  his  position 
and  discoursed  at  length  on  the  bull  fight, 
its  history,  its  possibilities,  the  games  of  the 
Romans,  how  they  fared  under  the  Goths, 
what  improvements  came  with  the  Moors, 
and  wound  up  by  suggesting  an  immediate 
visit  to  Fuenterrabia. 


MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE,     nj 

For  the  moment  no  enthusiasm  was  mani 
fested.  Mr.  Incoul  admitted  that  he  would 
like  to  go,  but  the  ladies  said  nothing,  and 
presently  the  two  men  planned  a  little  excur 
sion  by  themselves. 

Miss  Blydenburg  had  made  herself  com 
fortable  and  fallen  into  a  doze,  but  Maida 
sat  watching  the  retreating  uplands  with 
unseeing  eyes.  Her  thoughts  had  wandered, 
the  visible  was  lost  to  her.  Who  knows 
what  women  see  or  the  dreams  and  regrets 
that  may  come  to  the  most  matter-of-fact  ? 
Not  long  ago  at  the  opera,  in  a  little  Italian 
town,  the  historian  noticed  an  old  lady,  one 
who  looked  anything  but  sentimental,  for 
that  matter  rather  fierce  than  otherwise,  but 
who,  when  Cherubino  had  sung  his  enchant 
ing  song,  brushed  away  a  furtive  and  unex 
pected  tear.  Voi  che  sapcte  indeed  !  Perhaps 
to  her  own  cost  she  had  learned  and  was 
grieving  dumbly  then  over  some  ashes  that 
the  strain  had  stirred,  and  it  is  not  impossible 
that  as  Maida  sat  watching  the  retreating 
uplands  her  own  thoughts  had  circled  back 
to  an  earlier  summer  when  first  she  learned 
what  Love  might  be. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MR.    INCOUL    DINES    IN    SPAIN. 


the  morrow  Mr.  Blydenburg  consulted 
his  guide-books.  The  descriptions  of 
Fuenterrabia  were  vague  but  alluring.  The 
streets,  he  learned,  were  narrow  ;  the  roofs 
met ;  the  houses  were  black  with  age  ;  the 
doors  were  heavy  with  armorials ;  the  win 
dows  barred — in  short,  a  mediaeval  burg  that 
slept  on  a  blue  gulf  and  let  Time  limp  by 
unmarked.  Among  the  inhabitants  were 
some,  he  found,  who  accommodated  travelers. 
The  inns,  it  is  true,  were  unstarred,  but  the 
names  were  so  rich  in  suggestion  that  the 
neglect  was  not  noticed.  Mr.  Blydenburg 
had  never  passed  a  night  in  Spain,  and  he 
felt  that  he  would  like  to  do  so.  This  desire 
he  succeeded  in  awakening  in  Mr.  Incoul, 
and  together  they  agreed  to  take  an  after 
noon  train,  explore  the  town,  pass  the  even 
ing  at  the  Casino  and  return  to  Biarritz  the 
next  morning.  The  programme  thus  ar 
ranged  was  put  into  immediate  execution  ; 


AfK.  IN  CO  UL'S  MISA  D  VEN  TURE.      115 

two  days  after  the  bull  fight  they  were  again 
on  their  way  to  the  frontier,  and,  as  the  train 
passed  out  of  the  station  on  its  southern 
journey,  Maida  and  Lenox  Leigh  were  pre 
paring  for  a  stroll  on  the  sands. 

There  is  at  Biarritz  a  division  of  the  shore 
which,  starting  from  the  ruins  of  a  corsair's 
castle,  extends  on  to  Saint-Jean-de-Luz.  It 
is  known  as  the  Cote  des  Basques.  On  one 
side  are  the  cliffs,  on  the  other  the  sea,  and 
between  the  two  is  a  broad  avenue  which  al 
most  disappears  when  the  tide  is  high.  The 
sand  is  fine  as  face  powder,  nuance  Rachel, 
packed  hard.  From  the  cliffs  the  view  is 
delicious  :  in  the  distance  are  the  mountains 
curving  and  melting  in  the  haze ;  below,  the 
ocean,  spangled  at  the  edges,  is  of  a  milky 
blue.  Seen  from  the  shore,  the  sea  has  the 
color  of  absinthe,  an  opalescent  green,  en 
tangled  and  fringed  with  films  of  white  ;  here 
the  mountains  escape  in  the  perspective,  and 
as  the  sun  sinks  the  cliffs  glitter.  At  times 
the  sky  is  flecked  with  little  clouds  that 
dwindle  and  fade  into  spirals  of  pink  ;  at 
others  great  masses  rise  sheer  against  the 
horizon,  as  might  the  bastions  of  Titan 
homes ;  and  again  are  gigantic  cathedrals, 
their  spires  lost  in  azure,  their  turrets  swoon 
ing  in  excesses  of  vermilion  grace.  The  only 


Ii6     MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

sound  is  from  the  waves,  but  few  come  to 
listen.  The  Cote  des  Basques  is  not  fashion 
able  with  the  summer  colony  ;  it  is  merely 
beautiful  and  solitary. 

It  was  on  the  downs  that  Maida  and  Lenox 
first  chose  to  walk,  but  after  a  while  a  sloping 
descent  invited  them  to  the  shore  below. 
Soon  they  rounded  a  projecting  cliff,  and 
Biarritz  was  hidden  from  them.  The  back 
ground  was  chalk  festooned  with  green ; 
afar  were  the  purple  outlines  of  the  Pyrenees, 
and  before  them  the  ocean  murmured  its 
temptations  of  couch  and  of  tomb. 

They  had  been  talking  earnestly  with  the 
egotism  of  people  to  whom  everything  save 
self  is  landscape.  The  encircling  beauty  in 
which  they  walked  had  not  left  them  unim 
pressed,  yet  the  influence  had  been  remote 
and  undiscerned  ;  the  effect  had  been  that  of 
accessories.  But  now  they  were  silent,  for 
the  wonder  of  the  scene  was  upon  them. 

Presently  Maida,  finding  a  stone  conven 
iently  placed,  sat  down  on  the  sand  and  used 
the  stone  for  a  back.  Lenox  threw  him 
self  at  her  feet.  From  the  downs  above  there 
came  now  and  then  the  slumberous  tinkle 
of  a  bell,  but  so  faintly  that  it  fused  with  the 
rustle  of  the  waves;  no  one  heard  it  save  a 
little  girl  who  was  tending  cattle  and  who 


INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.      117 

knew  by  the  tinkle  where  each  of  her  charges 
browsed.  She  was  a  ragged  child,  barefooted 
and  not  very  wise  ;  she  was  afraid  of  strangers 
with  the  vague  fear  that  children  have.  And 
at  times  during  the  summer,  when  tourists 
crossed  the  downs  where  her  cattle  were,  she 
would  hide  till  they  had  passed. 

On  this  afternoon  she  had  been  occupying 
herself  with  blades  of  grass,  which  she  threw 
in  the  air  and  watched  float  down  to  the 
shore  below,  but  at  last  she  had  wearied  of 
this  amusement  and  was  about  to  turn  and 
bully  the  cows  in  the  shrill  little  voice  which 
was  hers,  when  Maida  and  her  companion 
appeared  on  the  scene.  The  child  felt  almost 
secure  ;  nothing  but  a  bird  could  reach  her 
from  the  shore  and  of  birds  she  had  no  fear, 
and  so,  being  curious  and  not  very  much 
afraid,  she  watched  the  couple  with  timid,  in 
quisitive  eyes. 

For  a  long  time  she  watched  and  for  a  long 
time  they  remained  motionless  in  the  posi 
tions  which  they  had  first  chosen.  At  times 
the  sound  of  their  voices  reached  her.  She 
wished  she  were  a  little  nearer  that  she  might 
hear  what  they  said.  She  had  never  seen 
people  sit  on  the  beach  before,  though  she 
had  heard  that  people  sometimes  did  so,  all 
night,  too,  and  that  they  were  called  smug- 


nS     MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

glers.  But  somehow  the  people  beneath  her 
did  not  seem  to  belong  to  that  category.  For  a 
moment  she  thought  that  they  might  be  guard 
ing  the  coast,  and  at  that  thought  an  inherent 
instinctive  fear  of  officials  beat  in  her  small 
breast.  She  had  indeed  heard  of  female 
smugglers ;  there  was  her  own  aunt,  for  in 
stance  ;  but  no,  she  had  never  heard  of  a 
coast-guard  in  woman's  clothes.  That  idea 
had  to  be  dismissed,  and  so  she  wondered  and 
watched  until  she  forgot  all  about  them,  and 
turned  her  attention  to  a  white  sail  in  the  open. 
The  white  sail  fainted  in  sheets  of  cobalt. 
The  sun  which  had  neared  the  horizon  was 
dying  in  throes  of  crimson  and  gamboge.  It 
was  time  she  knew  to  drive  the  cattle  home. 
She  stood  up  and  brushed  her  hair  aside,  and 
as  she  did  so,  her  eyes  fell  again  on  the 
couple  below.  The  man  had  moved  ;  he  was 
not  lying  as  he  had  been  with  his  back  to  the 
bluff ;  he  was  kneeling  by  his  companion, 
her  head  was  on  his  shoulder,  her  arms  were 
about  his  neck,  and  his  mouth  was  close  to 
hers.  The  little  maid  smiled  knowingly  ;  she 
had  seen  others  in  much  the  same  attitude  ; 
the  mystery  was  dissolved  ;  they  were  neither 
guards  nor  smugglers — they  were  lovers ; 
and  she  ran  on  at  once  through  the  bramble 
and  called  shrilly  to  the  cows. 


MR.  INCO  UL'S  MISA  D  VENT  I  'KE.     119 

The  excursionists,  meanwhile,  had  reached 
Hendaye  and  had  been  ferried  across  the 
stream  that  flows  between  it  and  Fuenter- 
rabia.  At  the  landing  they  were  met  by  a 
gentleman  in  green  and  red  who  muttered 
some  inquiry.  The  boatman  undid  the 
straps  of  the  valise  which  they  bore,  and  this 
rite  accomplished,  the  gentleman  in  green 
and  red  looked  idly  in  them  and  turned  as 
idly  away.  The  boatman  shouldered  the 
valises  again,  and  started  for  the  inn. 

Mr.  Incoul  and  his  friend  were  both  men 
to  whom  the  visible  world  exists  and  they  fol 
lowed  with  lingering  surprise.  They  as 
cended  a  sudden  slope,  bordered  on  one  side 
by  a  high  white  wall  in  which  lizards  played, 
and  which  they  assumed  was  the  wall  of 
some  monastery,  but  which  they  learned 
from  the  boatman  concealed  a  gambling- 
house,  and  soon  entered  a  small  grass-grown 
plaza.  To  the  right  was  a  church,  immense, 
austere ;  to  the  left  were  some  mildewed 
dwellings;  from  an  upper  window  a  man 
with  a  crimson  turban  looked  down  with  in 
different  eyes  and  abruptly  a  bird  sang. 

From  the  plaza  they  entered  the  main 
street  and  soon  were  at  the  inn.  Mr.  In 
coul  and  I'lydcnbtirg  were  both  men  to 
whom  the  visible  world  exists,  but  they  were 


120     MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

also  men  to  whom  the  material  world  has 
much  significance.  In  the  hall  of  the  inn 
a  chicken  and  two  turkeys  clucked  with  fear- 
less  composure.  The  public  room  was  small, 
close  and  full  of  insects.  At  a  rickety  table 
an  old  man,  puffy  and  scornful,  was  quarrel 
ing  with  himself  on  the  subject 'of  a  peseta 
which  he  held  in  his  hand.  The  inn-keeper, 
a  frowsy  female,  emerged  from  some  re 
moter  den,  eyed  them  with  unmollifiable 
suspicion  and  disappeared. 

"We  can't  stop  here,"  said  Blydenburg 
with  the  air  of  a  man  denying  the  feasibility 
of  a  trip  to  the  moon. 

On  inquiry  they  learned  that  the  town  con 
tained  nothing  better.  At  the  Casino  there 
were  roulette  tables,  but  no  beds.  Travelers 
usually  stopped  at  Hendaye  or  at  Irun. 

"Then  we  will  go  back  to  Biarritz." 

They  sent  their  valises  on  again  to  the 
landing  place  and  then  set  out  in  search  of 
Objects  of  Interest.  The  palace  of  Charle 
magne  scowled  at  them  in  a  tottering,  im 
potent  way.  When  they  attempted  to  enter 
the  church,  a  chill  caught  them  neck  and 
crop  and  forced  them  back.  For  some  time 
they  wandered  about  in  an  aimless,  unguided 
fashion,  yet  whatever  direction  they  chose 
that  direction  led  them  firmly  back  to  the 


MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.     121 

landing  place.  At  last  they  entered  the 
Casino. 

The  grounds  were  charming,  a  trifle  un 
kempt  perhaps,  the  walks  were  not  free  from 
weeds,  but  the  air  was  as  heavy  with  the  odor 
of  flowers  as  a  perfumery  shop  in  Bond  street. 
In  one  alley,  in  a  bower  of  trees,  was  a  row  of 
tables  ;  the  covers  were  white  and  the  glass 
ware  unexceptionable. 

'•  We  could  dine  here,"  Blydenburg  said  in 
a  self-examining  way.  A  pretty  girl  of  the 
manola  type,  dressed  like  a  soubrette  in  a 
vaudeville,  approached  and  decorated  his 
lapel  with  a  tube-rose.  "  We  certainly  can 
dine  here,"  he  repeated. 

The  girl  seemed  to  divine  the  meaning  of  his 
words.  "  Cicrtamentf,  Caballero"  she  lisped. 

Mr.  Blydenburg  had  never  been  called  Ca- 
ballero  before,  and  he  liked  it.  "  What  do 
you  say,  Incoul ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  willing,  order  it  now  if  you  care  to." 

But  the  ordering  was  not  easy.  Mr.  Uly- 
denburg  had  never  studied  pantomime,  and 
his  gestures  were  more  indicative  of  a  patient 
describing  a  toothache  to  a  dentist  than  of  an 
American  citizen  ordering  an  evening  meal. 
"  Kci\r\-Oostay"  he  repeated,  and  then  from 
some  abyss  of  memory  he  called  to  his  aid  de 
tached  phrases  in  German. 


122     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

The  girl  laughed  blithely.  Her  mouth 
was  like  a  pomegranate  cut  in  twain.  She 
took  a  thin  book  bound  in  morocco  from 
the  table  and  handed  it  to  the  unhappy  gen 
tleman.  It  was,  he  found,  a  list  of  dishes  and 
of  wines.  In  his  excitement,  he  pointed  one 
after  another  to  three  different  soups,  and 
then  waving  the  book  at  the  girl  as  who 
should  say,  "I  leave  the  rest  to  you,"  he 
dared  Mr.  Incoul  to  go  into  the  Casino  and 
break  the  bank  for  an  appetizer. 

The  Casino,  a  low  building  of  leprous 
white,  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  garden.  At 
the  door,  a  lackey,  in  frayed,  ill-fitting  livery, 
took  their  sticks  and  gave  them  numbered 
checks  in  exchange.  The  gambling-room 
was  on  the  floor  above,  and  occupied  the  en 
tire  length  of  the  house.  There,  about  a 
roulette  table,  a  dozen  men  were  seated  play 
ing  in  a  cheap  and  vicious  way  for  small 
stakes.  They  looked  exactly  what  they  were, 
and  nothing  worse  can  be  said  of  them.  "A 
den  of  thieves  in  a  miniature  paradise," 
thought  Mr.  Blydenburg,  and  his  fancy  was 
so  pleasured  with  the  phrase  that  he  deter 
mined  to  write  a  letter  to  the  Evening  Post, 
in  which,  with  that  for  title,  he  would  give  a 
description  of  Fuenterrabia.  He  found  a 
seat  and  began  to  play.  Mr.  Incoul  looked 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE,      i^j 

on  for  a  moment  and  then  sought  the  read 
ing-room.  When  he  returned  Blydenburg 
had  a  heap  of  counters  before  him. 

'•  I  have  won  all  that  !"  he  exclaimed  ex- 
ultingly.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  it  was 
after  seven.  He  cashed  the  counters  and  to 
gether  they  went  down  again  to  the  garden. 

The  dinner  was  ready.  They  had  one  soup, 
not  three,  and  other  dishes  of  which  no  partic 
ular  mention  is  necessary.  But  therewith  was 
a  bottle  of  Val  de  Penas,  a  wine  so  delicious 
that  a  temperance  lecturer  suffering  from 
hydrophobia  would  have  drunk  of  it.  The 
manola  with  the  pomegranate  mouth  fluttered 
near  them,  and  toward  the  close  of  the  meal 
Mr.  Blydenburg  chucked  her  under  the  chin. 
"  Nice  girl  that,"  he  announced  complacently. 

"  I  dare  say,"  his  friend  answered,  "  but 
I  have  never  been  able  to  take  an  interest  in 
women  of  that  class." 

Blydenburg  was  flushed  with  winnings  and 
wine.  He  did  not  notice  the  snub  and  pro 
ceeded  to  relate  an  after-dinner  story  of  that 
kind  in  which  men  of  a  certain  age  are  said 
to  luxuriate.  Mr.  Incoul  listened  negli 
gently. 

"  God  knows,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  am  not 
a  Puritan,  but  I  like  refinement,  and  refine 
ment  and  immorality  are  incompatible." 


124    MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  Look  at  London,  look  at 
Paris,  New  York  even ;  there  are  women 
whom  you  and  I  both  know,  women  in  the 
very  best  society,  of  whom  all  manner  of 
things  are  said  and  known.  You  may  call 
them  immoral  if  you  want  to,  but  you  cannot 
say  that  they  are  not  refined." 

"  I  say  this,  were  I  related  in  any  way,  were 
I  the  brother,  father,  the  husband  of  such  a 
woman,  I  would  wring  her  neck.  I  believe  in 
purity  in  women,  and  I  believe  also  in  purity 
in  men." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  good  thing  to  believe  in,  but 
it 'shard  to  find." 

Mr.  Incoul  had  spoken  more  vehemently 
than  was  his  wont,  and  to  this  remark  he 
made  no  answer.  His  eyes  were  green,  not 
the  green  of  the  cat  but  the  green  of  a  tiger, 
and  as  he  sat  with  fingers  clinched,  and  a 
cheerless  smile  on  his  thin  lips,  he  looked  a 
modern  hunter  of  the  Holy  Grail. 

The  night  train  leaves  Hendaye  a  trifle 
after  ten,  and  soon  a  sereno  was  heard  calling 
the  hour,  and  declaring  that  all  was  well.  It 
was  time  to  be  going,  they  knew,  and  without 
further  delay  they  had  themselves  ferried 
again  across  the  stream.  The  return  journey 
was  unmarked  by  adventure  or  incident.  Mr. 
Blydenburg  fell  into  a  doze,  and  after  dream- 


MR.  IN  CO  UVS  MI  SAD  VENTURE.     f2j 

ing  of  the  pomegranate  mouth  awoke  at  Biar 
ritz,  annoyed  that  he  had  not  thought  to 
address  the  manola  in  Basque.  At  the  sta 
tion  they  found  a  carriage,  and,  as  Blyden- 
burg  entered  it,  he  made  with  himself  a  little 
consolatory  pact  that  some  day  he  would  go 
back  to  Fuenterrabia  alone. 

The  station  at  Biarritz  is  several  miles  from 
the  town,  and  as  the  horses  were  slow  it  was 
almost  twelve  o'clock  before  the  Continental 
was  reached.  Blydenburg  alighted  there  and 
Mr.  Incoul  drove  on  alone  to  the  villa.  As  he 
approached  it  he  saw  that  his  wife's  rooms 
were  illuminated.  For  the  moment  he 
thought  she  might  be  waiting  for  him,  but  at 
once  he  knew  that  was  impossible,  for  on 
leaving  he  had  said  he  would  pass  the  night 
in  Spain. 

The  carriage  drew  up  before  the  main 
entrance.  He  felt  for  small  money  to  pay  the 
driver,  but  found  nothing  smaller  than  a  louis. 
The  driver,  after  a  protracted  fumbling,  de 
clared  that  in  the  matter  of  change  he  was 
not  a  bit  better  of.  Where  is  the  cabman 
who  was  ever  supplied  ?  Rather  than  waste 
words  Mr.  Incoul  gave  him  the  louis  and  the 
man  drove  off,  delighted  to  find  that  the  old 
trick  was  still  in  working  order. 

Mr.  Incoul  looked  up  again  at  his  wife's 


126     MR.  IN  CO  UL  S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

window,  but  during  his  parley  with  the  driver 
the  lights  had  been  extinguished.  He  en 
tered  the  gate  and  opened  the  door  with  a 
key.  The  hall  was  dark  ;  he  found  a  match 
and  lit  it.  On  the  stair  was  Lenox  Leigh. 
The  match  flickered  and  went  out,  but 
through  the  open  door  the  moon  poured  in. 

The  young  man  rubbed  his  hat  as  though 
uncertain  what  to  do  or  say.  At  last  he 
reached  the  door,  "  I  am  at  the  Grand,  you 
know,"  he  hazarded. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Mr.  Incoul  answered,  "and 
I  hope  you  are  comfortable." 

Leigh  passed  out.  Mr.  Incoul  closed  and 
bolted  the  door  behind  him.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  very  still.  Then  turning,  he 
ascended  the  stair. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THK    POINT    OF   VIEW. 


leaving  the  villa  Lenox  Leigh  experi- 
enced  a  number  of  conflicting  emo 
tions,  and  at  last  found  relief  in  sleep.  The 
day  that  followed  he  passed  in  chambered 
solitude ;  it  was  possible  that  some  delegate 
from  Mr.  Incoul  might  wish  to  exchange  a 
word  with  him,  and  in  accordance  with  the 
unwritten  statutes  of  what  is  seemly,  it  be 
hooved  him  to  be  in  readiness  for  the  ex 
change  of  that  word.  Moreover,  he  was  ex 
pectant  of  a  line  from  Maida,  some  word 
indicative  of  the  course  of  conduct  which  he 
should  pursue,  some  message,  in  fact,  which 
would  aid  him  to  rise  from  the  uncertainty 
in  which  he  groped.  As  a  consequence  he 
remained  in  his  room.  He  was  not  one  to 
whom  solitude  is  irksome,  indeed  he  had 
often  found  it  grateful  in  its  refreshment, 
but  to  be  enjoyable  solitude  should  not  be 
coupled  with  suspense  ;  in  that  case  it  is  un 
easiness  magnified  by  the  infinite.  And  if 


128    MR.  INCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

fear  be  analyzed,  what  is  it  save  the  dread  of 
the  unknown  ?  When  the  nerves  are  unstrung 
a  calamity  is  often  a  tonic.  The  worst  that 
can  be  has  been  done,  the  blow  has  fallen, 
and  with  the  falling  fear  vanishes,  hope  re 
turns,  the  healing  process  begins  at  once. 

The  uneasiness  which  visited  Lenox  Leigh 
came  precisely  from  his  inability  to  determine 
whether  or  not  a  blow  was  impending.  As 
to  the  blow,  he  cared,  in  the  abstract,  very 
little.  If  it  were  to  be  given,  let  it  be  dealt 
and  be  done  with;  that  which  alone  troubled 
him  was  his  ignorance  of  what  had  ensued 
after  his  meeting  with  Mr.  Incoul,  and  his 
incapacity  to  foresee  in  what  manner  the  con 
sequences  of  that  meeting  would  affect  his 
relations  with  Mr.  Incoul's  wife. 

In  this  uncertainty  he  looked  at  the  matter 
from  every  side,  and,  that  he  might  get  the 
broadest  view,  he  recalled  the  incidents  con 
nected  with  the  meeting.  The  facts  of  the 
case  seemed  then  to  resolve  themselves  into 
this  :  Mr.  Incoul  had  unexpectedly  returned 
to  his  home  after  midnight,  and  had  met  a 
friend  of  his  wife's  descending  the  stair. 
Their  greeting,  if  formal,  had  been  perfectly 
courteous.  The  departing  guest  had  informed 
the  returning  husband  at  what  hotel  he  was 
stopping,  and  that  gentleman  had  expressed 


J/A*.  ixcorrs  MISADVENTURE.    129 

the  hope  that  he  was  comfortable.  Certainly 
there  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  that. 
People  who  dwelled  in  recondite  regions 
might  see  impropriety  in  a  call  that  extended 
up  to  and  beyond  midnight,  whereas  others 
who  lived  in  more  liberal  centres  might  con 
sider  it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  It 
was,  then,  merely  the  point  of  view,  and  what 
was  the  point  of  view  which  Mr.  Incoul  had 
adopted  ?  If  he  considered  it  an  impropriety 
why  had  he  seemed  so  indifferent  ?  And, 
if  he  considered  it  natural  and  proper,  why 
should  he  have  been  so  damned  civil?  Why 
should  he  have  expressed  the  hope  that  his 
wife's  guest  was  comfortable  at  a  hotel? 
Was  the  expression  of  that  hope  merely  a 
commonplace  rejoinder,  or  was  it  an  inten 
tional  slur?  Surely,  every  one  possessed  of 
the  brain  of  a  medium-sized  rabbit  feels  that 
it  is  as  absurd  to  expect  an  intelligent  being 
to  be  comfortable  in  a  hotel  as  it  is  to  sup 
pose  that  he  can  find  enjoyment  in  an  evening 
party  or  amusement  in  a  comic  paper.  Then 
again,  and  this,  after  all,  was  the  great  ques 
tion  :  was  the  return  of  Mr.  Incoul  intentional 
or  accidental?  If  it  was  intentional,  if  he 
had  gone  away  intending  that  he  would  be 
absent  all  night  merely  that  by  an  unexpected 
return  he  might  verify  any  suspicions  which 


f jo     MR.  INCOUL'S  AflSADVENTURE. 

he  may  have  harbored,  then  in  driving  to  his 
door  in  a  rumbling  coach  he  had  shown  him 
self  a  very  poor  plotter.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  the  return  were  accidental  had  it  served  to 
turn  a  suspicionless  husband  into  a  suspicious 
one,  and  if  it  had  so  served,  how  far  did 
those  suspicions  extend  ?  Did  he  think  that 
his  wife  and  her  guest  had  been  occupied  with 
aimless  chit-chat,  or  did  he  believe  that  their 
conversation  had  been  of  a  personal  and  in 
timate  nature  ? 

As  Lenox  pondered  over  these  things  it 
seemed  to  him  that,  let  Mr.  Incoul  suspect 
what  he  might,  the  one  and  unique  cause  for 
apprehension  lay  in  the  attitude  which  Maida 
had  assumed  when  her  husband,  after  closing 
the  door,  had  gone  to  her  in  search  of  an  ex 
planation.  That  he  had  so  gone  there  was 
to  him  no  possible  doubt.  And  it  was  in  the 
expectancy  of  tidings  as  to  the  result  of  that 
explanation  that  he  waited  the  entire  day  in 
his  room. 

But  the  afternoon  waned  into  dusk  and 
still  no  tidings  came.  As  the  hours  wore  on 
his  uneasiness  decreased.  "Bah!"  he  mut 
tered  to  himself  at  last,  "  in  the  winter  I  gave 
all  my  mornings  to  Pyrrho  and  ^Enesidemus, 
and  here  six  months  later  during  an  entire 
day  I  bother  myself  about  eventualities." 


MR.  INCO  Ui:  -V  M/S.  I  />  I  'KNTURE.    JJI 

He  sighed  wearily  with  an  air  of  self-dis 
gust,  and  rising  from  the  sofa  on  which  his 
meditations  had  been  passed  he  went  to  the 
window.  The  Casino  opposite  was  already 
illuminated.  " They  will  be  there  to-night," 
he  thought.  "I  have  been  a  fool  for  my 
pains.  If  Maida  hasn't  written  it  is  because 
there  has  been  nothing  to  write.  I  will  look 
them  up  after  dinner  and  everything  will  be 
as  before."  He  took  off  his  morning  suit  and 
got  himself  into  evening  dress.  He  tied  his 
white  cravat  without  emotion,  with  a  precis 
ion  that  was  geometric  in  its  accuracy,  and  to 
hold  the  tie  in  place  he  ran  a  silver  pin 
through  the  collar  without  so  much  as  pricking 
his  neck.  He  was  thoroughly  at  ease.  The 
fear  of  the  blow  had  passed.  Pyrrho,  /Ene- 
sidemus,  the  whole  corps  of  ataraxists  had 
surged  suddenly  and  rescued  him  from  the 
toils  of  the  inscrutable. 

At  a  florist's  in  the  street  below  he  found  an 
orchid  with  which  he  decked  his  button-hole, 
and  then  in  search  of  dinner  he  sauntered 
into  Helder's,  a  restaurant  on  the  main 
street,  a  trifle  above  the  Grand  Hotel.  It 
was  crowded  ;  there  did  not  seem  to  be  a 
single  table  unoccupied.  He  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  and  was  about  to  go  elsewhere 
when  he  noticed  some  one  signaling  to  him 


IJ2     MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

from  the  remoter  end  of  the  garden.  He 
could  not  at  first  make  out  who  it  was  and  it 
was  not  until  he  had  made  use  of  a  monocle 
that  he  recognized  a  fellow  Baltimorean,  Mr. 
Clarence  May,  with  whom  in  days  gone  by  he 
had  been  on  terms  approaching  those  of  inti 
macy. 

Mr.  Clarence  May,  more  familiarly  known 
as  Clara,  was  a  pigeon-shooter  who  for  some 
years  past  had  been  promenading  the  side 
scenes  of  continental  life.  He  was  well 
known  in  the  penal  colonies  of  the  Riviera, 
and  hand-in-glove  with  some  of  the  most 
distinguished  rastaquoucres,  yet  did  he  hap 
pen  in  a  proscenium  it  was  by  accident.  In 
appearance  he  was  not  beautiful :  he  was  a 
meagre  little  man,  possessed  of  vague  feat- 
ures  and  an  allowance  of  sandy  hair  so 
undetermined  that  few  were  able  to  remember 
whether  or  not  he  wore  any  on  his  face. 
When  he  spoke  it  was  with  a  slight  stutter,  a 
trick  of  speech  which  he  declared  he  had  in 
herited  from  his  wet-nurse. 

He  rose  from  his  seat,  and  hurrying  for 
ward,  greeted  Lenox  as  though  he  had  seen 
him  the  week  before.  He  was  anything  but 
an  idealist,  yet  he  treated  Time  as  though  it 
were  the  veriest  fiction  of  the  non-existent, 
and  he  bombarded  no  one  with  questions  as 


MR.  LVCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE,     ijj 

to  what  had  become  of  them,  or  where  had 
they  been. 

"I  have  just  ordered  dinner,"  he  said,  in 
his  amusing  stammer,  "you  must  share  it  with 
me."  And  Lenox,  who  had  not  a  prejudice 
to  his  name,  accepted  the  invitation  as 
readily  as  it  was  made. 

'•I  don't  know,"  May  continued,  when 
they  were  seated — "I  don't  know  whether 
you  will  like  the  dinner — I  have  ordered 
very  little.  No  soup,  too  hot,  don't  you 
think  ?  No  oysters,  there  are  none  ;  all  out 
visiting,  the  man  said  ;  for  fish  I  have  sub 
stituted  a  melon ;  fish,  at  the  seaside,  is 
never  good ;  then  we  are  to  have  white 
truffles,  with  a  plain  sauce,  a  Chateaubriand, 
salad,  a  bit  of  cheese — voil&!  How  will 
that  suit  you  ?" 

Lenox  nodded,  as  who  should  say,  had 
I  ordered  it  myself  it  could  not  be  more  to 
my  taste,  and  thus  encouraged,  May  offered 
him  a  glass  of  Amer  Picon,  a  beverage  that 
smells  like  an  orange  and  looks  like  ink. 

The  dinner  passed  off  pleasantly  enough. 
The  white  truffles  were  excellent,  and  the 
Chateaubriand  cooked  to  a  turn.  The  only 
fault  to  be  found  was  with  the  Brie,  which 
May  seemed  to  think  was  not  as  flowing  as  it 
should  be. 


134     MR.  IN  CO  UL*S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said  at  last  when  coffee 
was  served,  "  you  know  Mirette  is  here  ?" 

"  Mirette  ?    Who  is  Mirette  ?" 

"  Why,  good  gad  !  My  dear  fellow,  Mirette 
is  Mirette  ;  the  one  adorable,  unique,  divine 
Mirette.  You  do  n't  mean  to  say  you  never 
heard  of  her  !" 

"  I  do,  though  perhaps  she  may  have  had 
the  good  fortune  to  hear  of  me." 

"Heavens  alive,  man!  do  n't  you  read  the 
papers?" 

Lenox  smiled.  "  Why  should  I  ?  I  am 
not  interested  in  the  community.  It  might 
be  stricken  with  dry-rot,  elephantiasis  and 
plica  polonica  for  ought  I  care.  Besides, 
there  is  nothing  in  them  ;  the  English  papers 
are  all  advertisements  and  aridity,  the  French 
are  frivolous  and  obscene.  I  mind  neither 
frivolity  nor  obscenity  ;  both  have  their  uses, 
as  flowers  and  cesspools  have  theirs  ;  but  I 
object  to  them  served  with  my  breakfast.  I 
think  if  once  a  year  a  man  would  read  a  sum 
mary  of  the  twelvemonth,  he  would  get  in  ten 
minutes  a  digest  of  all  that  might  be  neces 
sary  to  know,  and  what  is  more  to  the  point, 
he  would  have  to  his  credit  a  clear  profit  of 
two  hundred  hours  at  the  very  least,  and  two 
hundred  hours  rightly  employed  are  sufficient 
for  the  acquirement  of  such  a  knowledge  of 


.I/A'.  /.YCO  (.  V.'.V  MISAD  VENTURE,     fjj 

a  foreign  language  as  will  permit  a  man  to 
make  love  in  it  gracefully.  No,  I  seldom  read 
the  papers,  so  forgive  my  ignorance  as  to 
Mirette." 

"After  such  an  explanation  I  shall  have 
to.  But  if  you  care  to  learn  by  word  of 
mouth  that  which  you  decline  to  read  in 
print,  Mirette  is  premier  sttjct" 

"  In  the  ballet,  you  mean." 

"  Yes,  in  the  ballet,  and  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  think  of  a  ballet  without  her." 

"  She  must  have  gone  to  your  head." 

"And  to  every  one's  who  has  seen  her." 

"You  say  she  is  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  '11  be  at  the  Casino  to-night ;  I  '11 
present  you  if  you  say  so." 

"  I  might  take  a  look  at  her,  but  I  fancy  I 
shall  be  occupied  elsewhere." 

"As  you  like."  May  drew  out  his  watch. 
"It's  after  nine,"  he  added,  "if  we  are 
going  to  the  Casino  we  had  better  be  t-tod- 
dling." 

On  the  way  there  May  entered  a  tobac 
conist's,  and  Lenox  waited  for  him  without. 
As  he  loitered  on  the  curb,  Blydenburg 
rounded  an  adjacent  corner. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  the  latter,  "you  did  n't 
see  our  friends  off." 

"  What  friends  ?" 


ij6     MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

"  The  Incouls  of  course  ;  did  n't  you  know 
that  they  had  gone?" 

Lenox  looked  at  him  blankly.  "  Gone," 
he  echoed. 

"Yes,  they  must  have  sent  you  word. 
Incoul  seemed  to  expect  you.  They  have 
gone  up  to  Paris.  If  I  had  known  before 
hand—" 

Mr.  Blydenburg  rambled  on,  but  Lenox  no 
longer  listened.  It  was  for  this  then  that  he 
had  been  bothering  himself  the  entire  day. 
The  abruptness  of  the  departure  mystified 
him,  yet  he  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that  had  there  been  anything  abnor 
mal,  it  could  not  have  escaped  Blydenburg's 
attention. 

"  And  you  say  they  expected  me  ?"  he 
asked  at  last. 

"  Yes,  they  seemed  to.  Incoul  left  good 
bye  for  you.  When  you  get  to  Paris  look 
them  up." 

While  he  was  speaking  May  came  out 
from  the  tobacconist's. 

"  I  will  do  so,"  Lenox  said,  and  with  a 
parting  nod  he  joined  his  friend. 

As  he  walked  on  down  the  road  to  the 
Casino,  Mr.  Blydenburg  looked  musingly 
after  him.  He  would  not  be  a  bad  match 
for  Milly,  he  told  himself,  not  a  bad  match 


MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.     137 

at  all  ;  and  thinking  that  perhaps  it  might  be 
but  a  question  of  bringing  the  two  young 
people  together,  he  presently  started  off  in 
search  of  his  daughter  and  led  her,  lamb 
like,  to  the  Casino.  But  once  there  he  felt 
instinctively  that  for  that  evening  at  least 
any  bringing  together  of  the  young  people 
was  impossible.  Lenox  was  engaged  in  an 
animated  conversation  with  a  conspicuously 
dressed  lady,  whom,  Mr.  Blydenburg  learned 
on  inquiry,  was  none  other  than  the  noto 
rious  Mile.  Mirette,  of  the  Theatre  National 
de  1  'Opera. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


THE    HOUSE    IN    THE     PARC    MONCEAU. 


had  been  a  crash  in  Wall  street. 
Two  of  the  best  houses  had  gone  un 
der.  Of  one  of  these  the  senior  partner  had 
had  recourse  to  the  bare  bodkin.  For  sev 
eral  years  previous  his  wife  had  dispensed 
large  hospitality  from  a  charming  hotel  just 
within  the  gates  of  the  Pare  Monceau.  At 
the  news  of  her  ruined  widowhood  she  fled 
from  Paris.  In  a  week  it  was  only  her  cred 
itors  that  remembered  her.  The  hotel  was 
sold  under  the  hammer.  A  speculator 
bought  it  and  while  waiting  a  chance  to  sell 
it  again  at  a  premium,  offered  it  for  rent, 
fully  furnished,  as  it  stood.  This  by  the 
way. 

After  the  dinner  in  Spain,  Mr.  Incoul 
passed  some  time  in  thought.  The  next 
morning  he  sent  for  Karl,  and  after  a  con 
sultation  with  him,  he  went  to  the  square 
that  overhangs  the  sea,  entered  the  tele 
graph  office,  found  a  blank,  wrote  a  brief 


.I/A'.  IX  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE,     139 

message,  and  after  attending  to  its  despatch, 
returned  to  the  villa.  His  wife  was  in  the 
library,  and  as  he  entered  the  room  the 
maitre  ifhdtcl  announced  that  their  excel 
lencies  were  served. 

Maida  had  never  been  more  bewildering 
in  her  beauty.  Her  lips  were  moist,  and 
under  her  polar-blue  eyes  were  the  faintest 
of  semicircles. 

"  Did  you  enjoy  your  trip  to  Fuenterra- 
bia?"  she  asked. 

"  Exceedingly,"  he  answered.  But  he  did 
not  enter  into  details  and  the  breakfast  was 
done  before  either  of  them  spoke  again. 

At  last  as  Maida  rose  from  the  table  Mr. 
Incoul  said  :  "  We  leave  for  Paris  at  five  this 
afternoon.  I  beg  you  will  see  to  it  that  your 
things  are  ready." 

She  steadied  herself  against  a  chair,  she 
would  have  spoken,  but  he  had  risen  also 
and  left  the  room. 

For  the  time  being  her  mind  refused  to 
act.  Into  the  fibres  of  her  there  settled  that 
chill  which  the  garb  and  aspect  of  a  police 
man  produces  on  the  conscience  of  a  mis 
demeanant.  But  the  chill  passed  as  police 
men  do,  and  a  fever  came  in  its  place. 

To  hypnotize  her  thoughts  she  caught  up 
an  English  journal.  She  read  of  a  cocoa  that 


140     MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

was  grateful  and  comforting,  the  praises  of 
Pear's  Soap,  an  invitation  from  Mr.  Streeter 
to  view  his  wares,  a  column  of  testimonials 
on  the  merits  of  a  new  pill,  appeals  from 
societies  for  pecuniary  aid.  She  learned  that 
a  Dore  was  on  exhibition  in  New  Bond 
street,  that  Lady  Grenville,  The  Oaks,  Mar 
ket  Litchfield,  was  anxious  to  secure  a  situa 
tion  for  a  most  excellent  under-housemaid, 
that  money  in  large  amounts  or  small  could 
be  obtained  without  publicity  on  simple  note 
of  hand  by  applying  personally  or  by  letter 
to  Moss  &  Lewes,  Golden  Square.  She 
found  that  a  harmless,  effective  and  perma 
nent  cure  for  corpulency  would  be  sent  to 
any  part  of  the  world,  post-paid,  on  receipt 
twelve  stamps,  and  that  the  Junior  Macready 
Club  would  admit  a  few  more  members  with 
out  entrance  fee.  She  read  it  all  determin 
edly,  by  sheer  effort  of  will,  and  at  last  in 
glancing  over  an  oasis  her  eye  fell  upon  a 
telegram  from  Madrid  which  stated  cholera 
had  broken  out  afresh. 

She  took  the  paper  with  her  and  hurried 
from  the  room.  In  the  hall  her  husband 
stood  talking  to  Karl.  She  went  to  him  and 
pointed  to  the  telegram.  "Is  it  for  this  we 
are  to  leave  ?"  she  asked. 

Reread  the  notice  and  returned  it.  "  Yes," 


J/A'.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.     141 

he  answered,  "it  is  for  that."  And  then  it 
was  that  both  chill  and  fever  passed  away. 

The  journey  from  Biarritz  was  accom 
plished  without  incident.  On  their  previous 
visit  to  Paris,  they  had  put  up  at  the  Bristol 
and  to  that  hostelry  they  returned.  The 
manager  had  been  notified  and  the  yellow 
suite  overlooking  the  Palace  Vendome  was 
prepared  for  their  reception.  On  arriving, 
Maida  went  at  once  with  her  maid  to 
her  room.  Mr.  Incoul  changed  his  clothes, 
passed  an  hour  at  the  Hamman,  breakfasted 
at  Voisin's,  and  then  had  himself  driven  to  a 
house-agent. 

The  clerk,  a  man  of  fat  and  greasy  pres 
ence,  gave  him  a  list  of  apartments,  marking 
with  a  star  those  which  he  thought  might 
prove  most  suitable.  Mr.  Incoul  visited 
them  all.  He  had  never  lived  in  an  apart 
ment  in  Paris  and  the  absence  of  certain 
conveniences  perplexed  him.  The  last  apart 
ment  of  those  that  were  starred  was  near  the 
Arc  de  Triomphe.  When  he  had  been  shown 
it  over  he  found  a  seat,  and  heedless  of  the 
volubility  of  the  concierge,  rested  his  head 
in  his  hand  and  thought.  For  the  moment 
it  seemed  to  him  as  though  it  would  be  best 
to  return  to  New  York,  but  there  were  ob 
jections  to  that,  and  reflecting  that  there 


142     MR.  INCOUL  S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

might  be  other  and  better  arranged  apart 
ments,  he  left  the  chattering  concierge  and 
drove  again  to  the  agent's. 

"I  have  seen  nothing  I  liked,"  he  said 
simply. 

At  this  the  clerk  expressed  his  intense  sur 
prise.  The  apartment  in  the  Avenue  Mon 
taigne  was  everything  that  there  was  of  most 
fine,  and  wait,  the  Hospodar  of  Wallachia 
had  just  quitted  the  one  in  the  Rue  de  Pres- 
bourg.  "It  astonishes  me  much,"  he  said. 

The  astonishment  of  the  clerk  was  to  Mr. 
Incoul  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference. 
"  Have  you  any  private  houses  ?"  he  asked. 

"Ah,  yes,  particular  hotels."  Yes,  there 
was  one  near  the  Trocadero,  but  for  his  part 
he  found  that  the  apartment  in  the  Avenue 
Montaigne  would  fit  him  much  better.  "  But 
now  that  I  am  there,"  he  continued,  "  I  recall 
myself  of  one  that  is  enchanter  as  a  subjunct 
ive.  I  engage  you  to  visit  it."  And  there 
upon  he  wrote  down  the  address  of  the  house 
in  the  Pare  Monceau. 

It  was  not,  Mr.  Incoul  discovered,  a  large 
dwelling,  but  the  appointments  left  little  to 
be  desired.  In  the  dressing-rooms  was 
running  water,  and  each  of  the  bed-rooms 
was  supplied  with  gas-fixtures.  He  touched 
one  to  see  if  it  were  in  working  order,  and 


.I/A*.  1NCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VEN  TURE.     143 

immediately  the  escaping  ether  assured  him 
that  it  was.  He  sniffed  it  with  a  feeling  akin 
to  pleasure.  One  would  have  thought  that 
since  he  left  Madison  avenue  he  had  not 
enjoyed  such  a  treat.  There  was  gas  to  be 
found  in  the  dining-room,  but  the  reception- 
rooms  were  furnished  with  lamps  and  can- 
delabras.  The  bed-rooms  were  on  the  floor 
above.  One  of  these  overlooked  the  park. 
There  was  a  dressing-room  next  to  it,  but 
to  the  two  rooms  there  was  but  one  entrance, 
and  that  from  the  hall.  This  little  suite,  Mr. 
Incoul  resolved,  should  be  occupied  by  his 
wife.  Beyond,  across  the  hall,  was  a  sitting- 
room,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  house  was 
a  second  suite,  which  Mr.  Incoul  mentally 
selected  for  himself. 

He  returned  to  the  agent,  and  informed 
him  that  the  house  suited  him,  an  announce 
ment  which  the  man  received  with  an  air  of 
personal  sympathy. 

"Is  it  not!"  he  exclaimed,  "it  made  the 
mouth  champagne  nothing  but  to  think  there. 
And  again,  one  was  at  home  with  one's  self. 
Truly,  the  hotel  was  beautiful  as  a  boule 
vard.  Monsieur  would  never  regret  himself 
of  it.  And  had  Monsieur  servants?  No, 
good  then.  Let  Monsieur  not  disquiet  him 
self.  He  who  spoke  knew  of  a  cook,  ver- 


144    MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

itably  a  blue  ribbon,  and  as  to  masters 
of  hotel,  why,  anointed  name  of  a  dog,  not 
later  than  yesterday,  he  had  heard  that  Bap- 
tiste — he  who  had  served  the  family  of  Can- 
tacuzene — Monsieur  knew  her,  without  doubt, 
came  to  be  free." 

In  many  respects  Paris  is  not  what  it  might 
be.  The  shops  are  vulgar  in  their  osten 
tation.  Were  Monte  Cristo  to  return  he 
would  find  his  splendor  cheap  and  common 
place.  In  a  city  where  Asiatic  magnificence 
is  sold  from  misfit  and  remnant  counters  by 
the  ton,  where  emeralds  large  as  swallows' 
eggs  are  to  be  had  in  the  side-streets  at  a 
discount,  where  agents  are  ready  to  provide 
everything  from  an  opera-seria  to  a  shoe 
lace,  the  badauds  have  lost  their  ability  to  be 
startled.  Paris,  moreover,  is  not  what  it  was. 
The  suavity  and  civility  for  which  it  was 
proverbial  have  gone  the  way  of  other  old- 
fashioned  virtues  ;  the  wit  which  used  to  run 
about  the  streets  never  by  any  chance  enters 
a  salon  ;  save  in  China  a  more  rapacious  set 
of  bandits  than  the  restauranteurs  and  shop 
keepers  do  not  exist ;  the  theatres  are  haunts 
of  ennui ;  the  boulevards  are  filled  with  the 
worst-dressed  set  of  people  in  the  world.  As 
for  Parisian  gaiety,  there  is  nothing  duller — 
no,  not  even  a  carnival.  In  winter  the  city  is 


AfA\  1NCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE.     145 

a  tomb  ;  in  summer  a  furnace.  In  fact,  there 
are  dozens  and  dozens  of  places  far  more 
attractive,  but  there  is  not  one  where  house 
keeping  is  easier.  The  butcher  and  baker 
are  invisible  providers  of  the  best  of  fare. 
The  servants  understand  their  duties  and 
attend  to  them,  and,  given  a  little  fore 
thought  and  a  good  bank  account,  the  palace 
of  the  White  Cat  is  there  the  most  realizable 
of  constructions. 

In  a  week's  time  the  house  in  the  Pare 
Monceau  ran  in  grooves.  To  keep  it  running 
the  tenants  had  absolutely  nothing  to  do  but 
to  pay  the  bills.  For  this  function  Mr.  In- 
coul  was  amply  prepared,  and,  that  the  estab 
lishment  should  be  on  a  proper  footing,  he 
furnished  an  adjacent  stable  with  carnages, 
grooms  and  horse. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


MR.    INCOUL    IS    PREOCCUPIED. 

TV/T  R.  INCOUL'S  attitude  to  his  wife  had, 
•*•**  meanwhile,  in  no  wise  altered.  To  an 
observer,  nay,  to  Maida  herself,  he  was  as 
silent,  methodical  and  self-abnegatory  as 
he  had  been  from  the  first.  He  had  indeed 
caused  her  to  send  a  regret  to  Ballister  with 
out  giving  any  reason  why  the  regret  should 
be  sent,  but  otherwise  he  showed  himself  very 
indulgent. 

He  cared  little  for  the  stage,  yet  to  gratify 
Maida  he  engaged  boxes  for  the  season  at 
the  Fran£ais  and  at  the  Opera.  Now  and 
then  in  the  early  autumn  when  summer  was 
still  in  the  air  he  took  her  to  dine  in  the 
Bois,  at  Madrid  or  Armenenville,  and  drove 
home  with  her  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
stopping,  perhaps,  for  a  moment  at  some 
one  of  the  different  concerts  that  lined  the 
Champs  Elyse'es.  And  sometimes  he  went 
with  her  to  Versailles  and  at  others  to  Vin- 
cennes,  and  one  Sunday  to  Bougival.  But 


J/A*.  I.YCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.      147 

there  Maida  would  never  return ;  it  was 
crowded  with  a  set  of  people  the  like  of  which 
she  had  never  seen  before,  with  women  whose 
voices  were  high  pitched  and  unmodulated, 
and  men  in  queer  coats  who  stared  at  her 
and  smiled  if  they  caught  her  eye. 

But  with  the  first  tingle  that  accompanies 
the  falling  leaves,  the  open-air  restaurants 
and  concerts  closed  their  doors.  There  was 
a  succession  of  new  plays  which  Vitu  always 
praised  and  Sarcey  always  damned.  The  ver 
dict  of  the  latter  gentleman,  however,  did  not 
affect  Maida  in  the  least.  She  went  bravely 
to  the  Oddon  and  liked  it,  to  the  Cluny  where 
she  saw  a  shocking  play  that  made  her  laugh 
till  she  cried.  She  went  to  the  Nations  and 
and  saw  Lacressoniere  and  shuddered  before 
the  art  of  that  wonderful  actor.  At  the  Gym- 
nase  she  saw  the  "Maitre  des  Forges"  and 
when  she  went  home  her  eyes  were  wet ;  she 
saw  "  Nitouche "  and  would  have  willingly 
gone  back  the  next  night  to  see  it  again  ;  even 
Mr.  Incoul  smiled  ;  nothing  more  irresistibly 
amusing  than  Baron  could  be  imagined  ;  she 
saw,  too,  Bartet  and  Delaunay,  and  for  the 
first  time  heard  French  well  spoken.  But  of 
all  entertainments  the  Opera  pleasured  her 
most.  Already,  under  Mapleson's  reign,  she 
had  wearied  of  mere  sweetness  in  music  ;  she 


148    MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

felt  that  she  would  enjoy  Wagner  and  even 
planned  a  pilgrimage  to  Bayreuth,  but  mean 
while  Meyerbeer  had  the  power  to  intoxicate 
her  very  soul.  The  septette  in  the  second 
act  of  "  L'Africaine  "  affected  her  as  had  never 
anything  before ;  it  vibrated  from  her  finger 
tips  to  the  back  of  her  neck  ;  the  entire  score, 
from  the  opening  notes  of  the  overture  to 
the  farewell  of  Zuleika's  that  fuses  with 
the  murmur  of  the  sea,  thrilled  her  with 
abrupt  surprises,  with  series  and  excesses  of 
delight. 

There  were,  of  course,  many  evenings 
when  neither  opera  nor  theatre  was  attractive, 
and  on  such  evenings  invitations  from  resi 
dent  friends  and  aquaintances  were  some 
times  accepted  and  sometimes  open  house 
was  held. 

On  these  occasions,  Maida  found  herself 
an  envied  bride.  It  was  not  merely  that  her 
husband  was  rich  enough  to  buy  a  princi 
pality  and  hand  it  over  for  charitable  pur 
poses,  it  was  not  merely  that  he  was  willing 
to  give  her  everything  that  feminine  heart 
could  desire,  it  was  that,  however  crowded 
the  halls  might  be,  he  seemed  conscious  of 
the  existence  of  but  ene  woman,  and  that 
woman  was  his  wife.  There  were  triflers 
who  said  that  this  attitude  was  bourgeois; 


MK.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.     149 

there  were  others — more  witty — who  said 
that  it  was  immoral ;  but,  be  this  as  it  may, 
the  South  American  highwaymen,  who  called 
themselves  generals,  the  Russian  princesses, 
the  Roumanian  boyards,  the  attaches,  em- 
bassadors,  and  other  accredited  bores,  the 
contingent  from  the  Faubourg,  the  Ameri 
can  residents,  who,  were  they  sent  in  a 
body  to  the  rack,  could  not  have  confessed 
to  an  original  thought  among  them,  all  these, 
together  with  a  sprinkling  of  Spaniards  and 
English,  the  Tout-Paris,  in  fact,  agreed,  as  it 
was  intended  they  should,  on  this  one  point, 
to  wit,  that  Mr.  Incoul  was  the  most  devoted 
of  husbands. 

And  such  apparently  he  was.  If  Maida 
had  any  lingering  doubts  as  to  the  real  rea 
son  of  their  return  to  Paris,  little  by  little 
they  faded.  After  her  fright  she  made  with 
herself  several  little  compacts,  and  that  she 
might  carry  them  out  the  better  she  wrote  to 
Lenox  a  short,  decisive  note.  She  deter 
mined  that  he  should  never  enter  her  life 
again.  It  was  no  longer  his,  he  had  let  it  go 
without  an  effort  to  detain  it,  and  in  Biarritz 
if  it  had  seemed  that  he  still  held  the  key  of 
her  heart,  it  was  owing  as  much  to  the  unex 
pectedness  of  his  presence  as  to  the  languors 
of  the  afternoons.  In  marrying,  she  had 


150     MR.  INCOUL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

meant  to  be  brave  ;  indeed,  she  had  been  so— 
when  there  was  no  danger ;  and  if  in  spite  of 
her  intentions  she  had  faltered,  the  faltering 
had  at  least  served  as  a  lesson  which  she 
would  never  need  to  learn  again.  Over  the 
cinders  of  her  youth  she  would  write  a 
Requiescat.  Her  girlhood  had  been  her  own 
to  give,  but  her  womanhood  she  had  pledged 
to  another. 

As  she  thought  of  these  things  she  won 
dered  at  her  husband.  He  had  done  what 
she  had  hardly  dared  to  expect — he  had  ob 
served  their  ante-nuptial  agreement  to  the 
letter.  A  brother  could  not  have  treated  her 
with  greater  respect.  Surely  if  ever  a  man 
set  out  to  win  his  wife's  affection  he  had 
chosen  the  surest  way.  And  why  had  he  so 
acted  if  it  were  not  as  he  had  said,  that  given 
time  and  opportunity  he  would  win  her  affec 
tion.  He  was  doing  so,  Maida  felt,  and  with 
infinitely  greater  speed  than  she  had  ever 
deemed  possible.  Beside,  if  the  mangled 
remnants  of  her  heart  seemed  attractive,  why 
should  he  be  debarred  from  their  possession  ? 
Yet,  that  was  precisely  the  point  ;  he  did  not 
know  of  the  mangled  remnants,  he  thought 
her  heart-whole  and  virginal.  But  what 
would  he  do  if  he  learned  the  truth?  And 
as  she  wondered,  suddenly  the  conscious- 


J/A'.  TNCOULS  MISADVENTURE.      /J/ 

ness  came  to  her  that  she  was   living  with 
a  stranger. 

Heretofore  she  had  not  puzzled  over  the 
possible  intricacies  of  her  husband's  inner 
nature.  She  had  known  that  he  was  of  a 
grave  and  silent  disposition,  and  as  such  she 
had  been  content  to  accept  him,  without 
question  or  query.  But  as  she  collected 
some  of  the  scattered  threads  and  memories 
of  their  life  in  common,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
latterly  he  had  become  even  graver  and  more 
silent  than  before.  And  this  merely  when 
they  were  alone.  In  the  presence  of  a  third 
person,  when  they  went  abroad  as  guests,  or 
when  they  remained  at  home  as  hosts,  he  put 
his  gravity  aside  like  a  garment.  He  en 
couraged  her  in  whatever  conversation  she 
might  have  engaged  in,  he  aided  her  with  a 
word  or  a  suggestion,  he  made  a  point  of 
consulting  her  openly,  and  smiled  approv 
ingly  at  any  bright  remark  she  chanced  to 
make. 

But  when  they  were  alone,  unless  she  per 
sonally  addressed  him,  he  seldom  spoke,  and 
the  answers  that  he  gave  her,  while  perfectly 
courteous  in  tone  and  couching,  struck  her, 
now  that  she  reflected,  as  automatic,  like 
phrases  learned  by  rote.  It  is  true  they  were 
rarely  alone.  In  the  mornings  he  busied 


IJ2     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

himself  with  his  correspondence,  and  in  the 
afternoons  she  found  herself  fully  occupied 
with  shops  and  visits,  while  in  the  evenings 
there  was  usually  a  dinner,  a  play,  or  a  recep 
tion,  sometimes  all  three.  Since  the  season 
had  begun,  it  was  only  now  and  then,  once  in 
ten  days  perhaps,  that  an  evening  was  passed 
en  tete-a-tete.  On  such  occasions  he  would 
take  up  a  book  and  read  persistently,  or  he 
would  smoke,  flicking  the  ashes  from  the 
cigar  abstractedly  with  his  little  finger,  and 
so  sit  motionless  for  hours,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  cornice. 

It  was  this  silence  that  puzzled  her.  It 
was  evident  that  he  was  thinking  of  some 
thing,  but  of  what  ?  It  could  not  be  archaeol 
ogy,  he  seemed  to  have  given  it  up,  and  he 
was  not  a  metaphysician,  the  only  thinker,  be 
it  said,  to  whom  silence  is  at  all  times  permis 
sible. 

At  first  she  feared  that  his  preoccupation 
might  in  some  way  be  connected  with  the 
episodes  at  Biarritz,  but  this  fear  faded.  Mr. 
Incoul  had  been  made  a  member  of  the 
Cercle  des  Capucines,  and  now  and  then 
looked  in  there  ostensibly  to  glance  at  the 
papers  or  to  take  a  hand  at  whist.  One  day 
he  said  casually,  "  I  saw  your  friend  Leigh  at 
the  club.  You  might  ask  him  to  dinner." 


J/A'.  /.YCO I'L'S  .T//.V.-/ Z> VENTURE.     153 

The  invitation  was  sent,  but  Lenox  had  re 
gretted.  After  that  incident  it  was  impos 
sible  for  her  to  suppose  that  her  husband's 
preoccupation  was  in  anywise  connected 
with  the  intimacy  which  had  subsisted  be 
tween  the  young  man  and  herself. 

There  seemed  left  to  her  then  but  one  ten 
able  supposition.  Her  husband  had  been 
indulgence  personified.  He  had  been  court 
eous,  refined  and  foreseeing,  in  fact  a  gentle 
man,  and,  if  silent,  was  it  not  possible  that 
the  silence  was  due  to  a  self-restraining  deli 
cacy,  to  a  feeling  that  did  he  speak  he  would 
plead,  and  that,  perhaps,  when  pleading  would 
be  distasteful  to  her  ? 

To  this  solution  Maida  inclined.  It  was 
indeed  the  only  one  at  which  she  could 
arrive,  and,  moreover,  it  conveyed  that  little 
bouquet  of  flattery  which  has  been  found 
grateful  by  many  far  less  young  and  femi 
nine  than  she.  And  so,  one  evening,  for  the 
further  elucidation  of  the  enigma,  and  with 
the  idea  that  perhaps  it  needed  but  a  word 
from  her  to  cause  her  husband  to  say  some 
thing  of  that  which  was  on  his  mind,  and 
which  she  was  at  once  longing  and  dreading 
to  hear — one  evening  when  he  had  seemed 
particularly  abstracted,  she  bent  forward  and 
said,  "  Harmon,  of  what  are  you  thinking  ?" 


154     MR-  INC®  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

She  had  never  called  him  by  his  given 
name  before.  He  started,  and  half  turned. 

"  Of  you,"  he  answered. 

But  Maida's  heart  sank.  She  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  not  in  hers,  that  they  looked  over 
and  beyond  her,  as  though  they  followed  the 
fringes  of  an  escaping  dream. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

WHAT     MAY    BE    HEARD     IN     A    GREENROOM. 


evening  in  November  a  new  ballet 
was  given  at  the  Opera.  Its  produc 
tion  had  been  heralded  in  the  manner  which 
has  found  most  favor  with  Parisian  impres- 
sarii.  The  dead  walls  of  the  capital  were  not 
adorned  with  colored  lithographs.  The  ad 
vertising  sheets  held  no  notice  of  the  coming 
performance.  But  for  several  weeks  previous 
the  columns  of  the  liveliest  journals  had 
teemed  with  items  and  discreet  indiscretions. 

Through  these  measures  the  curiosity  of 
the  Tout-Paris  had  been  coerced  afresh,  and, 
when  the  curtain,  after  falling  on  the  second 
act  of  the  "  Favorite  "  parted  again  before  the 
new  ballet,  there  was  hardly  a  vacant  seat  in 
the  house. 

The  box  which  Mr.  Incoul  had  taken  for 
the  season  was  on  what  is  known  as  the  grand 
tier.  It  was  roomy,  holding  eight  comfortably 
and  twelve  if  need  be.  But  Maida,  who  was 
adverse  to  anything  that  suggested  crowd  ing, 


156     MR.  INCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

was  always  disinclined  to  ask  more  than  five 
or  six  to  share  it  with  her,  and  on  the  par 
ticular  evening  to  which  allusion  is  made  she 
extended  her  hospitality  to  but  four  people: 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wainwaring  and  their  daughter, 
New  Yorkers  like  herself,  and  the  Due  de  la 
Deche,  a  nobleman  who  served  as  figure-head 
to  the  Cercle  des  Capucines,  and  who,  so  ran 
the  gossip,  was  anxious  to  effect  an  exchange 
of  his  coroneted  freedom  for  the  possession 
of  Miss  Wainwaring  and  a  bundle  or  two  of 
her  father's  securities. 

During  the  entr'acte  that  preceded  the 
ballet  the  box  was  invaded  by  a  number  of 
visitors,  young  men  who  were  indebted  to 
Maida  for  a  dinner  or  a  cup  of  tea  and  by 
others  who  hoped  that  such  indebtedness 
was  still  in  store  for  them  ;  there  came,  too, 
a  popular  artist  who  wished  to  paint  Maida's 
portrait  for  the  coming  Salon  and  an  author 
who  may  have  had  much  cleverness,  but  who 
never  displayed  it  to  any  one. 

As  the  invasion  threatened  to  continue  Mr. 
Incoul  went  out  in  the  corridor,  where  he  was 
presently  joined  by  the  duke,  who  suggested 
that  they  should  visit  the  foyer.  They  made 
their  way  down  the  giant  stair  and  turning 
through  the  lobby  passed  on  through  the 
corridor  that  circles  the  stalls  until  they 


MR.  J.\'COCrs  MISADVENTURE.     157 

reached  a  door  guarded  from  non- subscribers 
by  a  Suisse  about  whose  neck  there  drooped 
a  medallioned  chain  of  silver.  By  him  the 
door  was  opened  wide  and  the  two  men 
passed  on  through  a  forest  of  side  scenes 
till  the  foyer  de  la  danse  was  reached. 

It  was  a  spacious  apartment,  well  lighted 
and  lined  with  mirrors  ;  the  furniture  was 
meagre,  a  dozen  or  more  chairs  and  lounges 
of  red  plush.  It  was  not  beautiful,  but  then 
what  market  ever  is  ?  To  Mr.  Incoul  it  was 
brilliant  as  a  cafe,  and  equally  vulgar.  From 
dressing-rooms  above  and  beyond  there  came 
a  stream  of  willowy  girls.  Few  among  them 
were  pretty,  and  some  there  were  whose  faces 
were  repulsive,  but  the  majority  were  young; 
some  indeed,  the  rats,  as  they  are  called, 
were  mere  children.  Here  and  there  was  a 
mother  of  the  Mme.  Cardinal  type,  armed 
with  an  umbrella  and  prepared  to  listen  to 
offers.  As  a  rule,  however,  the  young  ladies 
of  the  ballet  were  quite  able  to  attend  to  any 
little  matter  of  business  without  maternal 
assistance.  The  Italian  element  was  easily 
distinguishable.  There  was  the  ultra  dark 
ness  of  the  eye,  the  faint  umber  of  the  skin, 
the  richer  vitality,  in  fact,  of  which  the  anemic 
daughters  of  Paris  were  unpossessed.  And 
now  and  then  the  Gothic  gutturals  of  the 


fjS     MR.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE. 

Spanish  were  heard,  preceded  by  a  wave  of 
garlic. 

That  night  the  subscribers  to  the  stalls 
were  out  in  full  force.  There  were  Jew 
bankers  in  plenty,  there  were  detachments 
from  the  Jockey  and  the  Mirletons,  one  or 
two  foreign  representatives,  a  few  high  func 
tionaries,  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  he 
of  the  Fine  Arts,  a  member  of  the  imperial 
family  of  Russia,  a  number  of  stock  brokers 
and  an  Arab  Sheik  flanked  by  an  interpreter. 

Before  the  curtain  rose,  battalions  of  bal- 
lerines  formed  on  the  stage,  and  after  the 
performance  began  they  were  succeeded  by 
others,  the  first  contingent  returning  to  the 
dressing-rooms  or  loitering  in  the  foyer.  In 
this  way  there  was  a  constant  coming  and 
going  accompanied  by  the  murmur  of  the 
spectators  beyond  and  the  upper  notes  of 
the  flute. 

Mr.  Incoul  was  growing  weary ;  he  would 
have  returned  to  the  box,  but  he  was  joined 
by  acquaintances  that  he  had  made  at  the 
club,  Frenchmen  mainly,  friends  of  his  com 
panion,  and  presently  he  found  himself  sur 
rounded  by  a  group  of  viveurs,  men  about 
town,  who  had  their  Paris  at  the  end  of  their 
gloves,  and  to  whom  it  held  no  secrets. 
They  had  dined  and  talked  animatedly  in 


J/A'.  IN  CO  UL'S  MISADVENTURE,     /jp 

ends  and  remnants  of  phrases  in  a  sort  of 
verbal  telegraphy  ;  an  exclamation  helped  by 
a  gesture  sufficing  as  often  as  not  for  the 
full  conveyance  of  their  thought. 

Mr.  Incoul  spoke  French  with  tolerable 
ease,  but  having  nothing  of  moment  to  say, 
he  held  his  tongue,  contenting  himself  with 
listening  to  the  words  of  those  who  stood 
about  him.  And  as  he  listened,  the  name  of 
Mirette  caught  his  ear.  The  programme 
had  already  informed  him  that  it  was  she  who 
was  to  assume  the  principal  role  in  the  new 
ballet,  consequently  he  was  not  unfamiliar 
with  it,  but  of  the  woman  herself  he  knew 
nothing,  and  he  listened  idly,  indifferent  to 
ampler  information.  But  at  once  his  interest 
quickened  ;  his  immediate  neighbor  had  men 
tioned  her  in  connection  with  one  whom  he 
knew. 

"They  came  up  from  Biarritz  together,"  he 
heard  him  say.  "  She  went  there  with  Chose, 
that  Russian." 

"Balaguine?" 

"Precisely." 

"\Vhat  did  she  do  with  him?" 

"Found  the  Tartar,  I  fancy." 

"And  then?" 

"  Voilb,  this  young  American  is  mad  about 
her." 


160     MA.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTUER. 

"  He  is  rich  then  ?" 

"What  would  you  ?  An  American  !  They 
are  it  all." 

"Yes,  a  rich  one  always  wins." 

"  How  mean  you  ?" 

"  This  :  he  plays  bac  at  the  Capucines.  His 
banks  are  fructuous." 

"  Ah,  as  to  that —  And  the  first  speaker 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

A  rustle  circled  through  the  foyer,  men 
stood  aside  and  nodded  affably.  The  lights 
took  on  a  fairer  glow.  "  Stay,"  murmured 
the  second  speaker,  "she  is  there." 

Through  the  parting  crowd  Mirette  passed 
with  a  carriage  such  as  no  queen,  save  per 
haps  Semiramis,  ever  possessed.  She  moved 
from  the  hips,  her  body  was  erect  and  un 
swayed.  It  was  the  perfection  of  artificial 
grace.  Her  features  were  not  regular,  but 
there  was  an  expression  in  them  that  stirred 
the  pulse.  "Je  suis  r  Amour"  she  seemed  to 
say,  and  to  add  "prends  garde  a  toi."  As  she 
crossed  the  room  men  moistened  their  lips, 
and  when  she  had  gone  they  found  them  still 
parched. 

Mr.  Incoul  followed  her  with  his  eyes. 
She  had  not  left  him  unimpressed,  but  his 
impression  differed  from  that  of  his  neigh 
bors.  In  her  face  his  shrewdness  had  dis- 


MR.  INCOUL' S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.     161 

cerned  nothing  but  the  animal  and  the  greed 
of  unsatiated  appetites.  He  watched  her 
pass,  and  stepped  from  the  group  in  which 
he  had  been  standing  that  he  might  the  bet 
ter  follow  her  movements. 

From  the  foyer  she  floated  on  into  a  side 
scene,  yet  not  near  enough  to  the  stage  to 
be  seen  by  the  audience.  A  few  machin 
ists  moved  aside  to  let  her  pass,  and  as  they 
did  so  Mr.  Incoul  saw  Lenox  Leigh.  It  was 
evident  that  he  had  been  waiting  there  for 
her  coming.  There  was  a  scarf  about  her 
neck,  and  as  the  young  man  turned  to  greet 
her,  she  took  it  off  and  gave  it  into  his  keep 
ing.  They  whispered  together.  Beyond, 
Mr.  Incoul  could  see  the  tulle  of  the  ballet 
rising  and  subsiding  to  the  rhythm  of  the 
orchestra.  Then  came  a  sudden  blare  of 
trumpets,  the  measure  swooned,  and  as  it 
recovered  again  the  ballet  had  faded  to  the 
back  of  the  stage.  Abruptly,  as  though 
sprung  from  a  trap-door,  a  rtgisscur  appeared, 
and  at  a  signal  from  him  Mirette,  with  one 
cjuick  backward  stroke  to  her  skirt,  bounded 
from  the  side  scene  and  fluttered  down  to 
the  footlights  amid  a  crash  and  thunder  of 
applause. 

Mr.  Incoul  had  heard  and  seen  enough. 
His  mind  was  busy.  He  felt  the  need  of 


162     MR.  INCOULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

fresh  air  and  of  solitude.  He  turned  into 
the  corridor  and  from  there  went  through 
the  vestibule  until  he  reached  an  outer  door, 
which  he  swung  open  and  passed  out  into  the 
night.  He  was  thinly  clad,  in  evening  dress, 
and  the  air  was  chilly,  but  he  thought  noth 
ing  of  his  dress  nor  of  the  warmth  or  chill  of 
the  air.  He  walked  up  and  down  before  the 
building  with  his  head  bent  and  his  hands 
behind  his  back.  A  camelot  offered  him  a 
pack  of  transparent  cards,  a  vender  of  pro 
grammes  pestered  him  to  buy,  but  he  passed 
them  unheeding.  For  fully  half  an  hour  he 
continued  his  walk,  and  when  he  re-entered 
the  box,  Maida,  who  of  late  had  given  much 
attention  to  his  moods,  noticed  that  his  face 
was  flushed,  and  that  about  his  lips  there 
played  the  phantom  of  a  smile. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


KARL    GROWS    A     MOUSTACHE. 


"T^OR  several  days  Mr.  Incoul  was  much 
occupied.  He  left  the  house  early  and 
returned  to  it  late.  One  afternoon  he  sent 
for  Karl.  Since  the  return  to  Paris  the  cour 
ier's  duties  had  not  been  arduous  ;  they  con 
sisted  chiefly  in  keeping  out  of  the  way.  On 
this  particular  afternoon  he  was  not  immedi 
ately  discoverable,  and  when  at  last  he  pre 
sented  himself  it  was  in  the  expectation  that 
the  hour  of  his  dismissal  had  struck.  He 
bowed,  nevertheless,  with  the  best  grace  in 
the  world,  and  noticing  that  his  employer's 
eyes  were  upon  him,  gazed  deferentially  at 
the  carpet. 

Mr.  Incoul  looked  at  him  in  a  contempla 
tive  way  for  a  moment  or  two.  "Karl,"  he 
said  at  last,  and  Karl  raised  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  any  objections  to  shaving  your 
whiskers  ?" 

••  I,  sir?  not  the  slightest." 


164     MR.  IN  CO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

"I  will  be  obliged  if  you  will  do  so.  This 
afternoon  you  might  go  to  Cumberland's  and 
be  measured.  I  have  left  orders  there.  Then 
take  a  room  at  the  Meurice  ;  you  have  money, 
have  you  not  ?  Very  good,  keep  an  account 
of  your  expenditures.  In  a  week  I  will  send 
you  my  instructions.  That  will  do  for  to 
day." 

An  hour  later  Mr.  Incoul  was  watching  a 
game  of  baccarat  at  the  Cercle  des  Capu- 
cines. 

Meanwhile  Lenox  Leigh  had  given  much 
of  his  time  to  the  pleasures  of  Mirette's 
society.  In  making  her  acquaintance  at  Bi 
arritz  he  had  been  actuated  partly  by  the  idle 
ness  of  the  moment  and  partly  by  the  attract 
ing  face  of  celebrity.  He  had  never  known 
a  danseuse  ;  indeed,  heretofore,  his  acquaint 
ance  with  women  had  been  limited  to  those 
of  his  own  monde,  and  during  the  succeeding 
days  he  hovered  about  her  more  that  he  might 
add  a  new  photograph  to  a  mental  album  than 
with  any  idea  of  conquest.  She  amused  him 
extremely.  In  her  speech  she  displayed  a 
recklessness  of  adjective  such  as  he  had  never 
witnessed  before.  It  was  not  that  she  was 
brilliant,  but  she  possessed  that  stereotyped 
form  of  repartee  which  is  known  as  bagou, 
and  which  the  Parisian  takes  to  naturally  and 


J/A\  INCO UL S  MIS.  I D  VENTURE.     l6j 

without  effort.  Mirette  seemed  to  have  ac 
quired  it  in  its  supremest  expression.  One 
day,  for  instance,  the  curiosity  of  her  circle 
of  admirers  was  aroused  by  a  young  actress 
who,  while  painfully  plain,  squandered  coin 
with  remarkable  ease.  "Whom  do  you  sup- 
pose  she  gets  the  money  from  ?"  some  one 
asked,  and  Mirette  without  so  much  as  draw 
ing  breath  answered  serenely,  "A  blind 
man."  In  spite  of  the  bagou  Mirette  was  not 
a  Parisian.  She  was  born  in  the  provinces, 
at  Orleans,  and  was  wont  to  declare  herself  a 
lineal  descendant  of  Joan  of  Arc.  She  lied 
with  perfect  composure  ;  if  reproached  she 
curled  her  lips.  "Lies  whiten  the  teeth," 
she  would  say,  an  argument  which  it  was  im 
possible  to  refute. 

Under  the  empire  she  would  have  been  a 
success ;  under  a  republic  she  complained  of 
the  difficulty  of  making  two  ends  meet. 
Now  Lenox  was  not  rich,  but  he  was  an 
American,  and  the  Americans  have  assumed 
in  Paris  the  position  which  the  English  once 
held.  Their  coffers  are  considered  inexhaust 
ible.  On  this  subject,  thanks  to  Mrs. 
Mackay,  Mr.  Incoul,  the  Vanderbilts,  the 
Astors  and  a  dozen  others,  there  is  now  no 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  the  French.  To  be  an 
American  is  to  be  a  Vesuvius  of  gold  pieces. 


1 66     MR.  IXCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

As  a  native  of  the  land  of  millions,  Lenox 
found  that  his  earliest  attentions  were  re 
ceived  with  smiles,  and  in  time  when  a  Rus 
sian  became  so  scratched  that  the  Tartar  was 
visible,  Mirette  welcomed  him  with  undis 
guised  favor. 

Like  many  another,  Lenox  had  his  small 
vanities ;  he  would  have  liked  to  have  thought 
himself  indispensable  to  Maida's  happiness, 
but  in  her  absence  he  did  not  object  to  being 
regarded  as  the  cavaliere  servente  of  the  first 
lady  of  the  ballet.  Between  the  two  women 
the  contrast  was  striking.  Mirette,  as  has 
been  hinted,  was  reckless  of  adjective ;  she 
was  animal,  imperious,  and  at  times  frankly 
vulgar.  Maida  was  her  antithesis.  She 
shrank  from  coarseness  as  from  a  deformity. 
Both  represented  Love,  but  they  represented 
the  extremes.  One  was  as  ignorant  of  virtue 
as  the  other  was  unconscious  of  vice.  One 
was  Mylitta,  the  other  Psyche.  Had  the  dif 
ference  been  less  accentuated,  it  would  have 
jarred.  But  the  transition  was  immeasurable. 
It  was  like  a  journey  from  the  fjords  of  Nor 
way  to  the  jungles  of  Hindustan.  That 
Psyche  was  regretted  goes  without  the  need 
of  telling,  but  Mylitta  has  enchantments 
which  are  said  to  lull  regret. 

In  the  second  week  of  October  the  bathing 


.I/A'.  INCOULS  MISADVENTURE.     167 

was  still  delicious.  The  waves  encircled  one 
in  a  large,  abrupt  embrace.  Mirette  would 
have  liked  to  remain,  the  beach  was  a  daily 
triumph  for  her.  There  was  not  a  woman  in 
the  world  who  could  have  held  herself  in  the 
scantiest  of  costumes,  under  the  fire  of  a 
thousand  eyes,  as  gracefully  as  she.  No 
sedan-chair  for  her  indeed.  No  hurrying, 
no  running,  no  enveloping  wrap.  No  pre 
tense  or  attempt  to  avoid  the  scrutiny  of  the 
bystanders.  There  was  nothing  of  this  for 
her.  She  crossed  the  entire  width  of  sand, 
calmly,  slowly,  an  invitation  on  her  lips  and 
with  the  walk  and  majesty  of  a  queen.  The 
amateurs  as  usual  were  tempted  to  applaud. 
It  was  indeed  a  triumph,  an  advertisement  to 
boot,  and  one  which  she  would  have  liked  to 
prolong.  But  she  was  needed  at  the  Ope'ra 
and  so  she  returned  to  Paris  accompanied  by 
Lenox  Leigh. 

In  Paris  it  is  considered  inconvenient  for  a 
pretty  woman  to  go  about  on  foot,  and  as  for 
cabs,  where  is  the  self-respecting  chorus- 
girl  who  would  consent  to  be  seen  in  one  ? 
Mirette  was  very  positive  on  this  point  and 
Lenox  agreed  with  her  thoroughly.  He  did 
not,  however,  for  that  reason  offer  to  provide 
an  equipage.  Indeed  the  wherewithal  was 
larking.  He  had  spent  more  money  at 


168     MX.  INCO  Urs  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

Biarritz  than  he  had  intended,  perhaps  ten 
times  the  amount  that  he  would  have  spent 
at  Newport  or  at  Cowcs,  and  his  funds  were 
nearly  exhausted. 

As  every  one  is  aware  a  banker  is  the 
last  person  in  the  world  to  be  consulted  on 
matters  of  finance.  If  a  client  has  money  in 
his  pocket  a  banker  can  transfer  it  to  his  own 
in  an  absolutely  painless  manner,  but  if  the 
client's  pocket  is  empty  what  banker,  out  of 
an  opera-bouffe,  was  ever  willing  to  fill  it? 
Lenox  reflected  over  this  and  was  at  a  loss 
how  to  act.  The  firm  on  whom  his  drafts 
were  drawn  held  nothing  on  their  ledgers  to 
his  credit.  He  visited  them  immediately  on 
arriving  and  was  given  a  letter  which  for 
the  moment  he  fancied  might  contain  a  re 
mittance.  But  it  bore  the  Paris  postmark 
and  the  address  was  in  Maida's  familiar 
hand.  As  he  looked  at  it  he  forgot  his  indi 
gence,  his  heart  gave  an  exultant  throb.  He 
had  promised  himself  that  when  he  met  her 
again  matters  should  go  on  very  much  as 
they  had  before,  and  he  had  further  promised 
himself  that  so  soon  as  his  former  footing 
was  re-established  he  would  give  up  Mirette. 
He  was  therefore  well  pleased  when  the  note 
was  placed  in  his  hands.  It  had  a  faint  odor 
of  orris,  and  he  opened  it  as  were  he  unfold- 


AfA.  INCOCL'S  MISADVENTURE.     169 

ing  a  lace  handkerchief.  But  from  what  has 
gone  before  it  will  be  understood  that  his 
pleasure  was  short  lived.  The  note  was 
brief  and  categoric,  he  read  it  almost  at  a 
glance,  and  when  he  had  possessed  himself 
of  the  contents  he  felt  that  the  determination 
conveyed  was  one  from  which  there  was  no 
appeal,  or  rather  one  from  which  any  appeal 
would  be  useless.  He  looked  at  the  note 
again.  The  handwriting  suggested  an  unac 
customed  strength,  and  in  the  straight,  firm 
strokes  he  read  the  irrevocable.  "It  is  done," 
he  muttered,  "  I  can  write  Finis  over  that." 
He  looked  again  at  the  note  and  then  tore  it 
slowly  into  minute  scraps,  and  watched  them 
flutter  from  him. 

He  went  out  to  the  street  and  there  his 
earlier  preoccupation  returned.  It  would 
be  a  month  at  least  before  a  draft  could  be 
sent,  and  meanwhile,  though  he  had  enough 
for  his  personal  needs,  he  had  nothing  with 
which  to  satisfy  Mirette's  caprices.  Et  elle 
en  avaif,  cette  dame !  The  thought  of  separat 
ing  from  her  did  not  occur  to  him,  or  if  it  did 
it  was  in  that  hazy  indistinguishable  form  in 
which  eventualities  sometimes  visit  the  per 
plexed.  If  Maida's  note  had  been  other,  he 
would  have  washed  his  hands  of  Mirette,  but 
now  apparently  she  was  the  one  person  on  the 


170     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

Continent  who  cared  when  he  came  and  when 
he  went.  In  his  present  position  he  was  like 
one  who,  having  sprained  an  ankle,  learns  the 
utility  of  a  crutch.  The  idea  of  losing  it  was 
not  agreeable.  Beside,  the  knowledge  that 
his  intimacy  with  the  woman  had  been  en 
vied  by  grandees  with  unnumbered  hats  was 
to  him  a  source  of  something  that  resembled 
consolation. 

Presently  he  reached  the  boulevard.  He 
was  undecided  what  to  do  or  where  to  turn, 
and  as  he  loitered  on  the  curb  the  silver  head 
of  a  stick  was  waved  at  him  from  a  passing 
cab ;  in  a  moment  the  vehicle  stopped.  May 
alighted  and  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  Capucines,"  he 
explained,  in  his  blithesome  stutter.  "  There 's 
a  big  game  on  ;  why  not  come,  too  ?" 

"  A  big  game  of  what  ?" 

"  B-b,  why  baccarat  of  course.  What  did 
you  suppose  ?  M-marbles?" 

Lenox  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 
"Yes,  I  '11  go,"  he  said. 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  standing  in  a 
crowded  room  before  a  green  table.  He  had 
never  gambled,  and  hardly  knew  one  card 
from  another,  but  baccarat  can  be  learned 
with  such  facility  that  after  two  deals  a  raw 
recruit  can  argue  with  a  veteran  as  to  whether 


J/A'.  INCOUL'S  MIS.  1 1)  I  Y-..V  77  'RE.      171 

it  is  better  to  stand  on  five  or  to  draw.  Lenox 
watched  the  flight  of  notes,  gold  and  counters. 
He  listened  to  the  monotonous  calls  :  J'cn 
donnc  !  Carte!  Neuf !  The  end  of  the 
table  at  which  he  stood  seemed  to  be  un 
lucky.  He  moved  to  the  other,  and  presently 
he  leaned  over  the  shoulder  of  a  gamester 
and  put  down  a  few  louis.  In  an  hour  he 
left  the  room  with  twenty-seven  thousand 
francs. 

A  fraction  of  it  he  put  in  his  card-case,  the 
rest  he  handed  to  Mirette.  It  was  not  a  large 
sum,  but  its  dimensions  were  satisfactory  to 
her.  "  Ce  p'tit  chat"  she  said  to  herself,  "je 
stirizis  bicn  qu'il  ne  ferait  pas  Ic  lapin"  And 
of  the  large  azure  notes  she  made  precisely 
one  bite. 

Thereafter  for  some  weeks  things  went  on 
smoothly  enough.  Mirette's  mornings  were 
passed  at  rehearsals,  but  usually  the  after 
noons  were  free,  and  late  in  the  day  she 
would  take  Lenox  to  the  Cascade,  or  meet 
him  there  and  drive  back  with  him  to  dinner. 
In  the  evenings  there  was  the  inevitable 
theatre,  with  supper  afterwards  at  some  cab 
aret  a  la  mode.  And  sometimes  when  she 
was  over-fatigued,  Lenox  would  go  to  the 
club  and  try  a  hand  at  baccarat. 

He   was  not  always  so  fortunate  as  on  the 


172     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

first  day,  but  on  the  whole  his  good  luck  was 
noticeable.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  he 
found  the  excitement  enervating.  He  had 
been  used  to  a  much  quieter  existence,  one 
that  if  not  entirely  praiseworthy  was  still 
outwardly  decorous,  and  suddenly  he  had 
been  pitch-forked  into  that  narrowest  of  cir 
cles  which  is  called  Parisian  life.  He  may 
have  liked  it  at  first,  as  one  is  apt  to  like  any 
novelty,  but  to  nerves  that  are  properly  at 
tuned  a  little  of  its  viciousness  goes  a  very 
great  way. 

It  maybe  that  it  was  beginning  to  exert  its 
usual  dissolvent  effect.  In  any  event  Lenox, 
who  all  his  life  had  preferred  water  to  wine, 
found  absinthe  grateful  in  the  morning. 

One  afternoon,  shortly  after  the  initial  per 
formance  of  the  new  ballet,  he  went  from  his 
hotel  to  the  apartment  which  Mirette  occu 
pied  in  the  Rue  Pierre-Charon.  He  was  in 
formed  that  she  was  not  at  home.  He  ques 
tioned  the  servant  as  to  her  whereabouts,  but 
the  answers  he  received  were  vague  and 
unsatisfactory.  He  then  drove  to  the  Cas 
cade,  but  Mirette  did  not  appear.  After 
dinner  he  made  sure  of  finding  her.  In  this 
expectation  he  was  again  disappointed. 

The  next  day  his  success  was  no  better. 
He  questioned  the  servant  uselessly.  "Ma- 


MK.  f.\'CO [ 'L ' .V  J//.SW /) I Y-:.V 77 'RE.      173 

dame  was  not  at  home,  she  had  left  no  word." 
To  each  of  his  questions  the  answer  was  in 
variable.  It  was  evident  that  the  servant 
had  been  coached,  and  it  was  equally  evident 
that  at  least  for  the  moment  his  companion 
ship  was  riot  a  prime  necessity  to  the  first 
lady  of  the  ballet. 

As  he  left  the  house  he  bit  his  lip.  That 
Mirette  should  be  capricious  was  quite  in  the 
order  of  things,  but  that  she  should  treat  him 
like  the  first  comer  was  a  different  matter. 
When  he  had  last  seen  her,  her  manner  had 
left  nothing  to  be  desired,  and  suddenly, 
without  so  much  as  a  p.  p.  c.,  her  door  was 
shut,  and  not  shut  as  it  might  have  been  by 
accident ;  no,  it  was  persistently,  purposely 
closed. 

Presently  he  reached  the  Champs-Elyse'es. 
It  was  Sunday.  A  stream  of  carriages 
flooded  the  avenue,  and  the  sidewalks  were 
thronged  with  ill-dressed  people.  The  crowd 
increased  his  annoyance.  The  possibility  of 
being  jostled  irritated  him,  the  spectacle  of 
dawdling  shop-keepers  filled  him  with  dis 
gust.  He  hailed  a  cab  in  which  to  escape  ; 
the  driver  paid  no  attention  ;  he  hailed 
another  ;  the  result  was  the  same,  and  then  in 
the  increasing  exasperation  of  the  moment 
he  felt  that  he  hated  Paris.  A  fat  man  with 


174     MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

pursed  lips  and  an  air  of  imbecile  self-satis 
faction  brushed  against  him.  He  could  have 
turned  and  slapped  him  in  the  face. 

Without,  however,  committing  any  overt 
act  of  violence,  he  succeeded  in  reaching  his 
hotel.  There  he  sought  the  reading-room, 
but  he  found  it  fully  occupied  by  one  middle- 
aged  Englishwoman,  and  leaving  her  in  un 
disturbed  possession  of  the  Times,  he  went  to 
his  own  apartment.  A  day  or  two  before  he 
had  purchased  a  copy  of  a  much  applauded 
novel,  and  from  it  he  endeavored  to  extract 
a  sedative.  Mechanically  he  turned  the 
pages.  His  eyes  glanced  over  and  down 
them,  resting  at  times  through  fractions  of 
an  hour  on  a  single  line,  but  the  words  con 
veyed  no  message  to  his  mind,  his  thoughts 
were  elsewhere,  they  surged  through  vague 
perplexities  and  hovered  over  shadowy  enig 
mas,  until  at  last  he  discovered  that  he  was 
trying  to  read  in  the  dark. 

He  struck  a  light  and  found  that  it  was 
nearly  seven.  "  I  will  dress,"  he  told  himself, 
"and  dine  at  the  club."  In  half  an  hour  he 
PI  as  on  his  way  to  the  Capucines.  The  streets 
were  still  crowded  and  the  Avenue  de 
rOpera  in  which  his  hotel  was  situated, 
vibrated  as  were  it  the  main  artery  of  the 
capital.  As  he  approached  the  boulevard  he 


MK.  INCOUVS  AflSADVENTURE.     173 

thought  that  it  would  perhaps  be  wiser  to 
dine  at  a  restaurant ;  he  was  discomfited  and 
he  was  not  sure  but  that  the  myriad  tongue 
of  gossip  might  not  be  already  busy  with  the 
cause  of  his  discomfiture.  He  did  not  feel 
talkative,  and  were  he  taciturn  at  the  club  he 
knew  that  it  would  be  remarked.  Bignon's 
was  close  at  hand.  Why  not  dine  there  ?  In 
his  indecision  he  halted  before  an  adjacent 
shop  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  in  the 
window,  apparently  engrossed  by  an  assort 
ment  of  strass  and  imitation  pearls.  The 
proprietress  was  lounging  in  the  doorway. 
**  Si  Monsieur  veut  entrer " — she  began  se 
ductively,  but  he  turned  from  her ;  as  he 
did  so,  a  brougham  drew  up  before  the  curb 
and  Mirette  stepped  from  it. 

Lenox,  in  his  surprise  at  the  unexpected, 
did  not  at  first  notice  that  a  man  had  also 
alighted.  He  moved  forward  and  would  have 
spoken,  but  Mirette  looked  him  straight  in 
the  eyes,  as  who  should  say  Allcz  i-oits  faire 
lanlaire,  mon  chcr,  and  passed  on  into  the 
restaurant. 

Her  companion  had  hurried  a  little  in  ad 
vance  to  open  the  door,  and  as  he  swung  it 
aside  ami  Mirette  entered  Lenox  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  face.  It  was  meaningless 
enough,  and  yet  not  entirely  unfamiliar. 


176     MR.  INCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

"  Who  is  the  cad,"  he  wondered.  Yet,  after 
all,  what  difference  did  it  make  ?  He  could 
not  blame  the  man.  As  for  jealousy,  the 
word  was  meaningless  to  him.  It  was  his 
amour  propre  that  suffered.  He  smiled  a 
trifle  grimly  to  himself  and  continued  his 
way. 

At  the  corner  was  a  large  picture  shop. 
An  old  man  wrapped  in  a  loose  fur  coat 
stood  at  the  window  looking  at  the  painting 
of  a  little  girl.  The  child  was  alone  in  a 
coppice  and  seemingly  much  frightened  at 
the  approach  of  a  flock  of  does.  Uncon 
sciously  Lenox  stopped  also.  He  had  been 
so  bewildered  by  the  suddenness  of  the  cut 
that  he  did  not  notice  whether  he  was 
walking  or  standing  still. 

And  so  it  was  for  this,  he  mused,  that 
admittance  had  been  denied  him.  But  why 
could  she  not  have  had  the  decency  to  tell 
him  not  to  come  instead  of  letting  him  run 
there  like  a  tradesman  with  a  small  bill  ? 
Certainly  he  had  deserved  better  things  of 
her  than  that.  It  was  so  easy  for  a  woman 
to  break  gracefully.  A  note,  a  word,  and  if 
the  man  insists  a  second  note,  a  second  word  ; 
after  that  the  man,  if  he  is  decently  bred,  can 
do  nothing  but  raise  his  hat  and  speed  the 
parting  guest.  Beside,  why  would  she  want 


MA\  INCOUVS  MISADVENTURE.     777 

to  break  with  him  and  take  up  with  a  fellow 
who  looked  like  a  barber  from  the  Grand 
1 I  -tel  ?  Who  was  he  any  way  ? 

His  eyes  rested  on  the  picture  of  the  little 
girl.  The  representation  of  her  childish 
fright  almost  diverted  his  thoughts,  but  all 
the  while  there  was  an  undercurrent  which  in 
some  dim  way  kept  telling  him  that  he  had 
seen  the  man's  face  before.  And  as  he 
groped  in  his  memory  the  picture  of  the 
child  faded  as  might  a  picture  in  a  magic 
lantern,  and  in  its  place,  vaguely  at  first  and 
gradually  better  defined,  he  saw,  standing  in 
the  moonlight,  on  a  white  road,  a  coach  and 
four.  To  the  rear  was  the  terrace  of  a 
hotel,  and  beyond  was  a  shimmering  bay  like 
to  that  which  he  had  seen  at  San  Sebastian. 

"  My  God,"  he  cried  aloud,  "it's  Incoul's 
courier  !" 

The  old  man  in  the  fur  coat  looked  at  him 
nervously,  and  shrank  away. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MAY  EXPOSTULATES. 

r  I  "'HAT  evening  the  Wainwarings  and  the 
•^  Blydenburgs  dined  at  the  house  in  the 
Pare  Monceau.  The  Blydenburgs  had  long 
since  deserted  Biarritz,  but  the  return  jour 
ney  had  been  broken  at  Luchon,  and  in  that 
resort  the  days  had  passed  them  by  like 
chapters  in  a  stupid  fairy  tale. 

They  were  now  on  their  way  home ;  the 
pleasures  of  the  Continent  had  begun  to  pall, 
and  during  the  dinner,  Mr.  Blydenburg  took 
occasion  to  express  his  opinion  on  the  superi 
ority  of  American  institutions  over  those  of 
all  other  lands,  an  opinion  to  which  he  lent 
additional  weight  by  repeating  from  time  to 
time  that  New  York  was  quite  good  enough 
for  him. 

There  were  no  other  guests.  Shortly  be 
fore  ten  the  Wainwarings  left,  and  as  Blyden 
burg  was  preparing  to  take  his  daughter  back 
to  the  hotel,  Mr.  Incoul  said  that  he  would 
be  on  the  boulevard  later,  and  did  he  care  to 


MK.  /.vcorrs  MISADVENTURE.     179 

have  him  he  would  take  him  to  the  club,  a 
proposition  to  which  Blydenburg  at  once 
agreed. 

"  Harmon,"  said  Maida,  when  they  were 
alone,  "  are  you  to  be  away  long  ?" 

During  dinner  she  had  said  but  little. 
Latterly  she  had  complained  of  sleeplessness, 
and  to  banish  the  insomnia  a  physician  had 
recommended  the  usual  bromide  of  potas 
sium.  As  she  spoke,  Mr.  Incoul  noticed  that 
she  was  pale. 

"  Possibly  not,"  he  answered. 

She  had  been  standing  before  the  hearth, 
her  bare  arm  resting  on  the  velvet  of  the 
mantel,  and  her  eyes  following  the  flicker  of 
the  burning  logs — but  now  she  turned  to  him. 

"Do  you  remember  our  pact?"  she  asked. 

He  looked  at  her  but  said  nothing.  She 
moved  across  the  room  to  where  he  stood ; 
one  hand  just  touched  his  sleeve,  the  other 
she  raised  to  his  shoulder  and  rested  it  there 
for  a  second's  space.  Her  eyes  sought  his 
own,  her  head  was  thrown  back  a  little,  from 
her  hair  came  the  perfume  of  distant  oases, 
her  lips  were  moist  and  her  neck  was  like  a 
jasmine. 

"  Harmon,"  she  continued  in  a  tone  as  low 
as  were  she  speaking  to  herself,  "  we  have 
come  into  our  own." 


I  So     MR.  IN  CO  UL '  S  MISA  D  VENTURE. 

And  then  the  caress  passed  from  his  sleeve, 
her  hand  fell  from  his  shoulder,  she  glided 
from  him  with  the  motion  of  a  swan. 

"Come  to  me  when  you  return,"  she 
added.  Her  face  had  lost  its  pallor,  it  was 
flushed,  but  her  voice  was  brave. 

Yet  soon,  when  the  door  closed  behind  him, 
her  courage  faltered.  In  the  eyes  of  him 
whose  name  she  bore  and  to  whom  for  the 
first  time  she  had  made  offer  of  her  love,  she 
had  seen  no  answering  affection — merely  a 
look  which  a  man  might  give  who  wins  a  long- 
contested  game  of  chess.  But  presently  she 
reassured  herself.  If  at  the  avowal  her  hus 
band  had  seemed  triumphant,  in  very  truth 
what  was  he  else  ?  She  turned  to  a  mirror 
that  separated  the  windows  and  gazed  at  her 
own  reflection.  Perhaps  he  did  think  the 
winning  a  triumph.  Many  another  would 
have  thought  so,  too.  She  was  entirely  in 
white ;  her  arms  and  neck  were  unjeweled. 
"  I  look  like  a  bride,"  she  told  herself,  and 
then,  with  the  helplessness  of  regret,  she 
remembered  that  brides  wear  orange  blos 
soms,  but  she  had  none. 

The  idler  in  Paris  is  apt  to  find  Sunday 
evenings  dull.  There  are  many  houses  open, 
it  is  true,  but  not  infrequently  the  idler  is  dis 
inclined  to  receptions,  and  as  to  the  theatres, 


,1/A'.  AV(  V  ( 'L'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE.      iSi 

it  is  bourgeois  to  visit  them.  There  is,  there 
fore,  little  loft  save  the  clubs,  and  on  this 
particular  Sunday  evening,  when  Mr.  Incoul 
and  Blydenburg  entered  the  Capucines,  they 
found  it  tolerably  filled 

A  lackey  in  silk  knee  breeches  and  livery  of 
pale  blue  came  to  take  their  coats.  It  was 
not,  however,  until  Blydenburg  had  been 
helped  off  with  his  that  he  noticed  that  Mr. 
Incoul  had  preferred  to  keep  his  own  on. 

The  two  men  then  passed  out  of  the  vesti 
bule  into  a  room  in  which  was  a  large  table 
littered  with  papers,  and  from  there  into 
another  room  where  a  man  whom  Mr.  Incoul 
recognized  as  De  la  Deche  was  dozing  on  a 
lounge,  and  finally  a  room  was  reached  in 
which  most  of  the  members  had  assembled. 

"It  reminds  me  of  a  hotel,"  said  Blyden 
burg. 

"It  is,"  his  friend  answered  shortly.  He 
seemed  preoccupied  as  were  he  looking  for 
some  one  or  something ;  and  presently,  as 
they  approached  a  green  table  about  which  a 
crowd  was  grouped,  Blydenburg  pulled  him 
by  the  sleeve. 

"That's  young  Leigh  dealing,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

To  this  Mr.  Incoul  made  no  reply.  He  put 
his  hand  in  a  lower  outside  pocket  of  his 


1 82     MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

overcoat  and  assured  himself  that  a  little 
package  which  he  had  placed  there  had  not 
become  disarranged. 

On  hearing  his  name,  Lenox  looked  up 
from  his  task.  A  Frenchman  who  had  just 
entered  the  room  nodded  affably  to  him  and 
asked  if  he  were  lucky  that  evening. 

"Lucky  !"  cried  some  one  who  had  caught 
the  question,  "  I  should  say  so.  His  luck  is 
something  insolent ;  he  struck  a  match  a 
moment  ago  and  it  lit." 

The  whole  room  roared.  French  matches 
are  like  French  cigars  in  this,  there  is  nothing 
viler.  It  is  just  possible  that  the  parental 
republic  has  views  of  its  own  as  to  the  injuri- 
ousness  of  smoking,  and  seeks  to  discourage 
it  as  it  would  a  vice.  But  this  is  as  it  may 
be.  Every  one  laughed  and  Lenox  with  the 
others.  Mr.  Incoul  caught  his  eye  and  bowed 
to  him  across  the  table.  Blydenburg  had 
already  smiled  and  bowed  in  the  friendliest 
way.  He  did  not  quite  care  to  see  Mrs. 
Manhattan's  brother  dealing  at  baccarat,  but 
after  all,  when  one  is  at  Rome — 

"Do  you  care  to  play  ?"  Mr.  Incoul  asked. 

"Humph  !  I  might  go  a  louis  or  two  for  a 
flyer." 

They  had  both  been  standing  behind  the 
croupier,  but  Mr.  Incoul  then  left  his  com- 


J/A'.  I.YCOUL'S  -1//.V,//)  /  V-.A'/Y  'AT..      iSj 

panion,  and  passing  around  the  table  stopped 
at  a  chair  which  was  directly  on  Lenox's  left. 
In  this  chair  a  man  was  seated,  and  before 
him  was  a  small  pile  of  gold.  As  the  cards 
were  dealt  the  gold  diminished,  and  when  it 
dwindled  utterly  and  at  last  disappeared,  the 
man  rose  from  his  seat  and  Mr.  Incoul 
dropped  in  it. 

From  the  overcoat  pocket,  in  which  he  had 
previously  felt,  he  drew  out  a  number  of 
thousand-franc  notes;  they  were  all  unfolded, 
and  under  them  was  a  little  package.  The 
notes,  with  the  package  beneath  them,  were 
placed  by  Mr.  Incoul  where  the  pile  of  gold 
had  stood.  One  of  the  notes  he  then  threw  out 
in  the  semicircle.  A  man  seated  next  to  him 
received  the  cards  which  Lenox  dealt. 

"I  give,"  Lenox  called  in  French. 

"  Card,"  the  man  answered. 

It  was  a  face  card  that  he  received. 

"Six,"  Lenox  announced. 

Mr.  Incoul's  neighbor  could  boast  of 
nothing.  The  next  cards  that  were  dealt  on 
that  end  of  the  table  went  to  a  man  beyond. 
Mr.  Incoul  knew  that  did  that  man  not  hold 
higher  cards  than  the  banker  the  cards  in 
the  succeeding  deal  would  come  to  him. 

He  took  a  handful  of  notes  and  reached 
them  awkwardly  enough  across  the  space 


1 84     MR.  1NCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

from  which  Lenox  dealt ;  for  one  second  his 
hand  rested  on  the  talion,  then  he  said,  "A 
cheval."  Which,  being  interpreted,  means 
half  on  one  side  and  half  on  the  other.  The 
croupier  took  the  notes,  and  placed  them  in 
the  proper  position.  "  Nine,"  Lenox  called  ; 
he  had  won  at  both  ends  of  the  table. 

The  croupier  drew  in  the  stakes  with  his 
rake.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  droned,  "  make  your 
game." 

Mr.  Incoul  pushed  out  five  thousand  francs. 
The  next  cards  on  the  left  were  dealt  to  him. 

"Nine,"  Lenox  called  again. 

And  then  a  very  singular  thing  happened. 
The  croupier  leaned  forward  to  draw  in  Mr. 
Incoul's  money,  but  just  as  the  rake  touched 
the  notes,  Mr.  Incoul  drew  them  away. 

"Monsieur  /"  exclaimed  the  croupier. 

The  eyes  of  every  one  were  upon  him. 
He  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  stood  up, 
holding  in  his  hand  the  two  cards  which  had 
been  dealt  him,  then  throwing  them  down  on 
the  table,  he  said  very  quietly,  but  in  a  voice 
that  was  perfectly  distinct,  "  These  cards  are 
marked." 

A  moment  before  the  silence  had  indeed 
been  great,  but  during  the  moment  that  fol 
lowed  Mr.  Incoul's  announcement,  it  was  so 
intensified  that  it  could  be  felt.  Then 


J/A'.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.     fSj 

abruptly  words  leapt  from  the  mouths  of  the 
players  and  bystanders.  The  croupier  turned, 
protesting  his  innocence  of  any  complicity. 
There  may  have  been  some  who  listened,  but 
if  there  were  any  such,  they  were  few  ;  the 
entire  room  was  sonorous  with  loud  voices ; 
the  hubbub  was  so  great  that  it  woke  De  la 
Deche ;  he  came  in  at  one  door  rubbing  his 
eyes  ;  at  another  a  crowd  of  lackeys,  startled 
at  the  uproar,  had  suddenly  assembled.  And 
by  the  chair  which  he  had  pushed  from  him 
and  which  had  fallen  backwards  to  the  ground, 
Mr.  Incoul  stood,  motionless,  looking  down  at 
Lenox  Leigh. 

In  the  abruptness  of  the  accusation  Lenox 
had  not  immediately  understood  that  it  was 
directed  against  him,  but  when  he  looked 
into  the  inimical  faces  that  fronted  and  sur 
rounded  him,  when  he  heard  the  anger  of  the 
voices,  when  he  saw  hands  stretched  for  the 
cards  which  he  dealt,  and  impatient  eyes 
examining  their  texture,  and  when  at  last, 
though  the  entire  scene  was  compassed  in  the 
fraction  of  a  minute,  when  he  heard  an  epi 
thet  and  saw  that  he  was  regarded  as  a 
Greek,  he  knew  that  the  worst  that  could  be 
had  been  done. 

He  turned,  still  sitting,  and  looked  his  ac 
cuser  in  the  face,  and  in  it  he  read  a  message 


iS6     MR.  IN  CO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

which  to  all  of  those  present  was  to  him 
alone  intelligible.  He  bowed  his  head.  In 
a  vision  like  to  that  which  is  said  to  visit 
the  last  moments  of  a  drowning  man,  he  saw 
it  all :  the  reason  of  Maida's  unexplained 
departure,  the  coupling  of  Mirette  with  a  serv 
ant,  and  this  supreme  reproach  made  cred 
ible  by  the  commonest  of  tricks,  the  applica 
tion  of  a  cataplasm,  a  new  deck  of  cards  on 
those  already  in  use.  It  was  vengeance  indeed. 

He  sprang  from  his  seat.  He  was  a  hand 
some  fellow  and  the  pallor  of  his  face  made 
his  dark  hair  seem  darker  and  his  dark  eyes 
more  brilliant.  "  It  is  a  plot,"  he  cried.  He 
might  as  well  have  asked  alms  of  statues. 
The  cards  had  been  examined,  the  maquil- 
lage  was  evident.  "  Put  him  out !"  a  hundred 
voices  were  shouting  ;  "a  la  porte!" 

Suddenly  the  shouting  subsided  and  ceased. 
Lenox  craned  his  neck  to  discover  who  his 
possible  defender  might  be,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  De  la  Deche,  brushing  with  one 
finger  some  ashes  from  his  coat  sleeve,  and 
looking  about  him  with  an  indolent,  depreca 
tory  air. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  heard  him  say,  "the 
committee  will  act  in  the  matter;  meanwhile, 
for  the  honor  of  the  club,  I  beg  you  will  not 
increase  the  scandal." 


.I/A1.  /\COl'L'S  MISADVENTURE.      /// 

I  It  turned  to  Lenox  and  said,  with  perfect 
courtesy,  "Sir,  do  me  the  favor  to  step  this 
way." 

Through  the  parting  crowd  Lenox  followed 
the  duke.  In  crossing  the  room  he  looked 
about  him.  On  his  way  he  passed  the 
Frenchman  who  had  addressed  him  five  min 
utes  before.  The  man  turned  aside.  He 
passed  other  acquaintances.  They  all  seemed 
suddenly  smitten  by  the  disease  known  as  Noli 
me  tangere.  In  the  doorway  was  May.  Of  him 
he  felt  almost  sure,  but  the  brute  drew  back. 
"  Really,"  he  said,  "  I  must  exp-postulate." 

"  Expostulate  and  be  damned,"  Lenox 
gnashed  at  him,  "lam  as  innocent  as  you  are." 

In  an  outer  room,  where  he  presently 
found  himself,  De  la  Deche  stood  lighting  a 
cigar;  that  difficult  operation  terminated,  he 
said,  slowly,  with  that  rise  and  fall  of  the 
voice  which  is  peculiar  to  the  Parisian  when 
he  wish.es  to  appear  impressive  : 

"  You  had  better  go  now,  and  if  you  will 
permit  me  to  offer  you  a  bit  of  advice,  I 
would  recommend  you  to  send  a  resignation 
to  any  clubs  of  which  you  may  happen  to  be 
a  member." 

He  touched  a  bell ;  a  lackey  appeared. 

"  Maxime,  get  this  gentleman's  coat  and 
see  him  to  the  door." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    BARE    BODKIN. 

PRESENTLY  Lenox  found  himself  on 
-*•  the  boulevard.  There  was  a  cafe  near 
at  hand,  and  he  sat  down  at  one  of  the 
tables  that  lined  the  sidewalk.  He  was 
dazed  as  were  he  in  the  semi-consciousness 
of  somnambulism.  He  gave  an  order  ab 
sently,  and  when  some  drink  was  placed  be 
fore  him,  he  took  it  at  a  gulp. 

Under  its  influence  his  stupor  fell  from 
him.  The  necessity,  the  obligation  of  prov 
ing  his  innocence  presented  itself,  but,  with 
itr  hand  in  hand,  came  the  knowledge  that 
such  proof  was  impossible.  Even  his  luck  at 
play  would  be  taken  as  corroboratory  of  the 
charge.  Were  he  to  say  that  the  marked 
cards  had  been  placed  on  the  talion  by  In- 
coul,  who  was  there  outside  the  aisles  of  the 
insane  that  would  listen  to  such  a  defense? 
To  compel  attention,  he  would  be  obliged  to 
explain  the  act,  and  state  its  reason.  And 
that  explanation  he  could  never  give.  He 


.  LVCOUL'S  MISADVEXTURE.     189 

could  not  exculpate  himself  at  the  cost  of  a 
woman's  fame.  Which  ever  way  he  turned, 
dishonor  stood  before  him.  The  toils  into 
which  he  had  fallen  had  been  woven  with  a 
cunning  so  devilish  in  its  clairvoyance  that 
every  avenue  of  escape  was  closed.  He  was 
blockaded  in  his  own  disgrace. 

He  rested  his  head  in  his  hand,  and 
moaned  aloud.  Presently,  with  the  instinct 
of  a  hunted  beast,  he  felt  that  people  were 
looking  at  him.  He  feared  that  some  of  his 
former  acquaintances,  on  leaving  the  club, 
had  passed  and  seen  him  sitting  there,  and 
among  them,  perhaps  Incoul. 

He  threw  some  money  in  the  saucer  and 
hurried  away.  There  were  still  many  people 
about.  To  avoid  them  he  turned  into  a  side 
street  and  walked  on  with  rapid  step.  Soon 
he  was  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  It  was  prac 
tically  deserted.  On  a  corner,  a  young  ruf 
fian  in  a  slouch  hat  was  humming,  "  Uglnc, 
tu  m  'fats  languir"  and  beating  time  to  the 
measure  with  his  foot.  Just  above  the 
Colonne  Vendome  the  moon  rested  like  a 
vagrant,  weary  of  its  amble  across  the  sky. 
But  otherwise  the  street  was  solitary. 
Through  its  entire  length  but  one  shop  was 
open,  and  as  Lenox  approached  it  a  man 
came  out  to  arrange  the  shutters.  From  the 


jpo     MR.  INCO  ULS  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

doorway  a  thin  stream  of  light  still  filtered  on 
the  pavement.  In  the  window  were  globes 
filled  with  colored  liquids,  and  beyond  at  a 
counter  a  clerk  was  tying  a  parcel. 

Lenox  entered.  "  Give  me  a  Privas,"  he 
said,  and  when  the  clerk  had  done  so,  he 
asked  him  to  make  up  a  certain  prescription. 
But  to  this  the  man  objected  ;  he  could  not, 
he  explained,  without  a  physician's  order. 

"  Here  are  several,"  said  Lenox,  and  he 
took  from  his  card-case  a  roll  of  azure  notes. 

The  clerk  eyed  them  nervously.  They 
represented  over  a  year's  salary.  He  hesi 
tated  a  moment,  "I  do  n't  know," — and  he 
shook  his  head,  as  were  he  arguing  with 
himself — "I  don't  know  whether  I  am  doing 
right."  And  at  once  prepared  the  mixture. 

Ten  minutes  later  Lenox  was  mounting 
the  stair  of  the  hotel  at  which  he  lodged. 
On  reaching  his  room  he  put  his  purchases 
on  a  table,  poured  out  a  glass  of  absinthe, 
lit  a  cigarette,  and  threw  himself  down  on  a 
lounge.  For  a  while  his  thoughts  roamed 
among  the  episodes  of  the  day,  but  gradually 
they  drifted  into  less  personal  currents.  He 
began  to  think  of  the  early  legends :  of 
Chiron,  the  god,  renouncing  his  immortality  ; 
of  the  Hyperboreans,  that  fabled  people, 
famous  for  their  felicity,  who  voluntarily 


/,/A'.  INCOVi:*  MISADVENTURE.     191 

threw  themselves  into  the  sea ;  of  Juno 
bringing  death  to  Biton  and  Cleobis  as  the 
highest  recompense  of  their  piety  ;  of  Aga- 
medes  and  Trophonius,  praying  Apollo  for 
whatever  gift  he  deemed  most  advantageous, 
and  in  answer  to  the  prayer  receiving  eternal 
sleep. 

He  reflected  on  the  meaning  of  these  leg 
ends,  and,  as  he  reflected,  he  remembered 
that  the  Thracians  greeted  birth  with  lamen 
tations  and  death  with  welcoming  festivals. 
He  thought  of  that  sage  who  pitied  the 
gods  because  their  lives  were  unending,  and 
of  Menander  singing  the  early  demise  of  the 
favored.  He  remembered  how  Plato  had 
preached  to  the  happiest  people  in  the  world 
the  blessedness  of  ceaseless  sleep  ;  how  the 
Buddha,  teaching  that  life  was  but  a  right  to 
suffer,  had  found  for  the  recalcitrant  no 
greater  menace  than  that  of  an  existence  re 
newed  through  kalpas  of  time.  Then  he 
bethought  him  of  the  promise  of  that  peace 
which  passeth  all  understanding,  and  which 
the  grave  alone  fulfills,  and  he  repeated  to 
himself  Christ's  significant  threat,  "  In  this 
life  ye  shall  have  tribulation." 

And,  as  these  things  came  to  him,  so,  too, 
did  the  problem  of  pain.  He  reviewed  the 
ravages  of  that  uk  er  which  has  battened  on 


IQ2     MR,  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENT  I  'A'/;. 

humanity  since  the  world  began.  History 
uncoiled  itself  before  him  in  a  shudder.  In 
its  spasms  he  saw  the  myriads  that  have 
fought  and  died  for  dogmas  that  they  did 
not  understand,  for  invented  principles  of 
patriotism  and  religion,  for  leaders  that  they 
had  never  seen,  for  gods  more  helpless  than 
themselves. 

He  saw,  too,  Nature's  cruelty  and  her 
snares.  The  gift  to  man  of  appetites,  which, 
in  the  guise  of  pleasure,  veil  immedicable 
pain.  Poison  in  the  richest  flowers,  the 
agony  that  lurks  in  the  grape.  He  knew 
that  whoso  ate  to  his  hunger,  or  drank  to  his 
thirst,  summoned  to  him  one  or  more  of 
countless  maladies — maladies  which  parents 
gave  with  their  vices  to  their  children,  who, 
in  turn,  bring  forth  new  generations  that  are 
smitten  with  all  the  ills  to  which  flesh  is  heir. 
And  he  knew  that  even  those  who  lived  most 
temperately  were  defenceless  from  disorders 
that  come  unawares  and  frighten  away  one's 
nearest  friends.  While  for  those  who  escaped 
miasmas  and  microbes  ;  for  those  who  asked 
pleasure,  not  of  the  flesh,  but  of  the  mind  ; 
for  those  whose  days  are  passed  in  study, 
who  seek  to  learn  some  rhyme  for  the  reason 
of  things,  who  try  to  gratify  the  curiosity 
which  Nature  has  given  them  ;  for  such  as 


.  INCO UL'S  MISA D I 'F..Y Tl'RE.     igj 

they,  he  remembered,  there  is  blindness, 
paralysis,  and  the  asylums  of  the  insane. 

He  thought  of  the  illusions,  of  love,  hope 
and  ambition,  illusions  which  make  life  seem 
a  pleasant  thing  worth  living,  and  which,  in 
cheating  man  into  a  continuance  of  his  right 
to  suffer,  make  him  think  pain  an  accident 
and  not  the  rule. 

"Surely,"  he  mused,  "  the  idiot  alone  is 
content.  He  at  least  has  no  illusions  ;  he 
expects  nothing  in  this  world  and  cares  less 
for  another.  Nor  is  the  stupidity  of  the 
ordinary  run  of  men  without  its  charm.  It 
must  be  a  singularly  blessed  thing  not  to  be 
sensitive,  not  to  know  what  life  might  be, 
and  not  to  find  its  insufficiency  a  curse.  But 
there's  the  rub.  When  the  reforms  of  the 
utopists  are  one  and  all  accomplished,  what 
shall  man  do  in  his  Icaria  ?  A  million  years 
hence,  perhaps,  physical  pain  will  have  been 
vanquished.  Diseases  of  the  body  will  no 
longer  exist.  Laws  will  not  oppress.  Justice 
will  be  inherent.  Love  will  be  too  far  from 
Nature  to  know  of  shame.  The  earth  will  be 
a  garden  of  pleasure.  Industry  will  have 
enriched  every  home.  Through  an  equitable 
division  of  treasures  acquired  without  toil, 
each  one  will  be  on  the  same  footing  as  his 
neighbor.  Even  envy  will  have  disappeared. 


194     MR-  IHCO  UL*  S  MIS  A  D  VENTURE. 

In  place  of  the  trials,  terrors  and  supersti 
tions  of  to-day,  man  will  enjoy  perfect  peace. 
He  will  no  longer  labor.  When  he  journeys 
it  will  be  through  the  air.  He  will  be  in 
daily  communication  with  Mars,  he  will  have 
measured  the  Infinite  and  know  the  bounds 
of  Space.  And  in  this  Eden  in  which  there 
will  be  no  forbidden  fruit,  no  ignorance,  no 
tempter,  but  where  there  will  be  larger  flow 
ers,  new  perfumes,  and  a  race  whose  idea  of 
beauty  stands  to  mine  as  mine  does  to  that  of 
prehistoric  man,  a  race  whose  imagination  has 
crossed  the  frontiers  of  the  impossible,  who 
have  developed  new  senses,  who  see  colors 
to  which  I  am  blind,  who  hear  music  to  which 
I  am  deaf,  who  speak  in  words  of  tormented 
polish,  who  have  turned  art  into  a  plaything 
and  learning  into  a  birthright,  a  race  that  has 
no  curiosity  and  who  accept  their  wonderful 
existence  as  the  rich  to-day  accept  their 
wealth,  in  this  Eden,  Boredom  will  be  King. 
The  Hyperboreans  will  have  their  imitators. 
The  one  surcease  will  be  in  death.  Yet  even 
that  may  not  be  robbed  of  its  grotesqueness." 
A  candle  flickered  a  moment  and  expired 
in  a  splutter  of  grease.  The  agony  of  the 
candle  aroused  him  from  his  revery.  *'  Bah," 
he  muttered,  "I  am  becoming  a  casuist,  I 
argue  with  myself." 


MR.  INCOUi:^  .MISADVENTURE.     195 

He  mixed  himself  another  absinthe,  hold 
ing  the  carafe  high  in  the  air,  watching  the 
thin  stream  of  water  coalesce  with  the  green 
drug  and  turn  with  it  into  an  opalescent 
milk.  He  toyed  for  a  moment  with  the  pur 
chases  that  he  had  made  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix, 
and  presently,  in  answer  to  some  query  which 
they  evoked,  the  soliloquy  began  anew. 

"  After  what  has  happened  there  is  nothing 
left.  I  might  change  my  name.  I  might  go 
to  Brazil  or  Australia,  but  with  what  object  ? 
I  could  not  get  away  from  myself. 

Da  me  stesso 
Sempre  fuggendo,  avr6  me  sempre  appresso. 

Beside  I  don't  care  for  transplantation.  If 
I  had  an  ambition  it  would  be  a  different 
matter.  If  I  could  be  a  pretty  woman  up  to 
thirty,  a  cardinal  up  to  fifty,  and  after  that 
the  Anti-Christ,  it  might  be  worth  while. 
Failing  that  I  might  occupy  myself  with  liter 
ature.  If  I  have  not  written  heretofore,  it  is 
because  it  seems  more  original  not  to  do  so. 
But  it  is  not  too  late.  The  manufacture  of 
trash  is  easy,  and  it  must  be  a  pleasure  to  the 
manufacturer  to  know  that  it  is  trash  and 
that  it  sells.  It  must  give  him  a  high 
opinion  of  the  intellect  of  his  contemporaries. 
Or  when,  as  happens  now  and  then,  a  work 
of  enduring  value  is  produced,  and  it  is  con- 


196     MR.  INCO  UL'S  MIS  AD  VENTURE. 

demned,  as  such  works  usually  are,  the  author 
must  take  immense  delight  in  the  reflection 
that  the  disapproval  of  imbeciles  is  the  surest 
acknowledgement  of  talent,  as  it  is  also  its 
sweetest  mead  of  praise.  For  me,  of  course, 
such  praise  is  impossible.  Were  I  to  write 
successful  failures,  it  must  needs  be  under 
a  pseudonym.  In  which  case  I  would  have 
the  consciousness  of  being  scorned  as  Lenox 
Leigh,  and  admired  as  John  Smith.  Be 
side,  what  is  there  to  write  about?  There 
is  nothing  to  prove,  there  is  no  certainty, 
there  is  not  even  a  criterion  of  truth.  To 
morrow  contradicts  yesterday,  next  week  will 
contradict  this.  On  no  given  subject  are 
there  two  people  who  think  and  see  exactly 
alike.  The  book  which  pleases  me  bores  my 
neighbor,  and  vice  versd.  One  man  holds  to 
the  Episcopal  Church,  another  to  the  Baptist ; 
one  man  is  an  atheist,  another  a  Jew  ;  one 
man  thinks  a  soprano  voice  a  delicious  gift, 
another  says  it  is  a  disease  of  the  larynx,  and 
whatever  the  divergence  of  opinion  may  be, 
each  one  is  convinced  that  he  alone  is  correct. 
Supposing,  however,  that  through  some 
chance  I  were  to  descend  to  posterity  in  the 
garb  and  aspect  of  a  great  man.  What  is  a 
great  man  ?  The  shadow  of  nothing.  The 
obscurest  privat  decent  in  Germany  could 


JlfA\  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE,      /p/ 

to-day  give  points  to  Newton.  And  even 
though  Newton's  glory  may  still  subsist,  yet 
such  are  the  limitations  of  fame  that  the 
great  majority  have  never  heard  of  it  or 
of  him.  The  foremost  conqueror  of  modern 
times,  he  who  fell  not  through  his  defeats, 
but  through  his  victories,  is  entombed  just 
across  the  Seine.  And  the  other  day  as  I 
passed  the  Invalides  I  heard  an  intelligent- 
looking  woman  ask  her  companion  who  the 
Napoleon  was  that  lay  buried  there.  Her 
companion  did  not  know. 

"But,  even  were  glory  more  substantial, 
what  is  the  applause  of  posterity  to  the  ears 
of  the  dead  ?  To  them  honor  and  ignominy 
must  be  alike  unmeaning.  No,  decidedly, 
ambition  does  not  tempt  me.  And  what  is 
there  else  that  tempts  ?  Love  seems  to  me 
now  like  hunger,  an  unnecessary  affliction, 
productive  far  more  of  pain  than  of  pleasure  ; 
the  most  natural,  the  most  alluring  thing  of 
all,  see  in  what  plight  it  has  brought  me. 
Yet  it  is,  I  have  heard,  the  ultimate  hope  of 
those  who  have  none.  If  I  relinquish  it, 
what  have  I  left?  The  satisfaction  of  my 
curiosity  as  to  what  the  years  may  hold  ? 
But  I  am  indifferent.  To  revenge  myself  on 
Incoul.  Certainly,  I  would  like  to  cut  his 
heart  out  and  force  it  down  his  throat !  But 


/p<?     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

how  would  it  better  me  ?  If  I  could  be 
transported  to  the  multicolored  nights  of 
other  worlds,  and  there  taste  of  inexperienced 
pleasures,  move  in  new  refinements,  lose  my 
own  identity,  or  pursue  a  chimera  and  catch 
it,  it  might  be  worth  while,  but,  as  it  is — " 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  rang  out  four 
times.  Again  Lenox  started  from  his  revery. 
He  smiled  cynically  at  himself.  "  If  I  con 
tinue  in  that  strain,"  he  muttered,  "it  must 
be  that  I  am  drunk." 

But  soon  his  eyes  closed  again  in  mental 
retrospect.  "And  yet,"  he  mused,  "life  is 
pleasant ;  ill  spent  as  mine  has  been,  many 
times  I  have  found  it  grateful.  In  books,  I 
have  often  lost  the  consciousness  of  my  own 
identity ;  now  and  then  music  has  indeed 
had  the  power  to  take  me  to  other  worlds,  to 
show  me  fresh  horizons  and  larger  life. 
Maida  herself  came  to  me  like  a  revelation. 
She  gave  me  a  new  conception  of  beauty. 
Yes,  I  have  known  very  many  pleasant  hours. 
I  was  younger  then,  I  fancy.  After  all,  it  is 
not  life  that  is  short,  it  is  youth.  When  that 
goes,  as  mine  seems  to  have  done,  outside  of 
solitude  there  is  little  charm  in  anything. 
And  what  is  death  but  isolation  ?  The  most 
perfect  and  impenetrable  that  Nature  has  de 
vised.  And  whether  that  isolation  come  to 


MK.  f.YCO  t  7  D  VENTURE.      199 

me  to-night  or  decades  hence,  what  matters 
it?  It  is  odd,  though,  how  the  thought  of  it 
unnerves  one,  and  yet,  to  be  logical,  I 
suppose  one  should  be  as  uneasy  of  the 
chaos  which  precedes  existence  as  of  the 
unknowable  that  follows  it.  The  proper 
course,  I  take  it,  is  to  imitate  the  infant, 
who  faces  death  without  a  tremor,  and  enters 
it  without  regret." 

He  stood  up,  and  drawing  the  curtains 
aside,  looked  out  into  the  night.  From  be 
low  came  the  rumble  of  a  cart  on  its  way  to 
the  Hallos,  but  otherwise  the  street  was 
silent.  The  houses  opposite  were  livid. 
There  was  a  faint  flicker  from  the  street 
lamps,  and  above  were  the  trembling  stars. 
The  moon  had  gone,  but  there  was  yet  no 
sign  of  coming  dawn. 

He  left  the  window.  The  candles  had 
burned  down ;  he  found  fresh  ones  and 
lighted  them.  As  he  did  so,  he  caught  sight 
of  himself  in  the  glass.  His  eyes  were  hag 
gard  and  rimmed  with  circles.  It  was  owing 
to  the  position  of  the  candles,  he  thought, 
and  he  raised  them  above  his  head  and 
looked  again.  There  was  something  on  his 
forehead  just  above  the  temple,  and  he  put 
the  candles  down  to  brush  that  something 
away.  He  looked  again,  it  was  still  there. 


200     MR.  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

He  peered  into  the  glass  and  touched  it  with 
his  hand.  It  was  nothing,  he  found,  merely 
a  lock  of  hair  that  had  turned  from  black  to 
white. 

He  poured  out  more  absinthe,  and  put  the 
bottle  down  empty.  Before  drinking  it  he 
undid  the  package  which  he  had  bought  from 
the  chemist.  First  he  took  from  it  a  box 
about  three  inches  long.  In  it  was  a  toy 
syringe,  and  with  it  two  little  instruments. 
One  of  these  he  adjusted  in  the  projecting 
tube,  and  with  his  finger  felt  carefully  of  the 
point.  It  was  sharp  as  a  needle,  and  beneath 
the  point  was  an  orifice  like  a  shark's  mouth, 
in  miniature. 

Then  he  took  from  the  package  a  phial 
that  held  a  brown  liquid,  in  which  he  de 
tected  a  shade  like  to  that  of  gold.  The 
odor  was  dull  and  heavy.  He  put  the  phial 
down  and  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute. 
He  had  looked  into  the  past  and  now  he 
looked  into  the  future.  But  in  its  Arcadias 
he  saw  nothing,  save  his  own  image  sus 
pended  from  a  gibbet.  He  looked  again  al 
most  wistfully  ;  no,  there  was  nothing.  He 
threw  off  his  coat  and  rolled  up  his  sleeve. 
From  the  phial  he  filled  the  syringe,  and  with 
the  point  pricked  the  bare  arm  and  sent  the 
liquid  spurting  into  the  flesh.  Three  times 


.I/A1.  INCOUL'S  MISAD  VE.\  Ti  /  /..     201 

he  did  this.  He  reached  for  the  absinthe 
and  left  it  untasted. 

Into  his  veins  had  come  an  unknown,  a 
delicious  languor.  He  sank  into  a  chair. 
The  walls  of  the  room  dissolved  into  cata 
racts  of  light  and  dazzling  steel.  The  floor 
ing  changed  to  running  crimson,  and  from 
that  to  black,  and  back  to  red  again.  From 
the  ceiling  came  flood  after  flood  of  fused, 
intermingled  and  oscillating  colors.  Hiseyes 
closed.  The  light  became  more  intense,  and 
burned  luminous  through  the  lids.  In  his 
cars  filtered  a  harmony,  faint  as  did  it  come 
from  afar,  and  singular  as  were  it  won  from 
some  new  consonance  of  citherns  and  clavi 
chords,  and  suddenly  it  rose  into  tumultuous 
vibrations,  striated  with  series  of  ascending 
scales.  Then  as  suddenly  ceased,  drowned 
in  claps  of  thunder. 

The  lights  turned  purple  and  glowed  less 
vividly,  as  though  veils  were  being  lowered 
between  him  and  them.  But  still  the  languor 
continued,  sweeter  ever  and  more  enveloping, 
till  from  very  sweetness  it  was  almost  pain. 

The  room  grew  darker,  the  colors  waned, 
the  lights  behind  the  falling  veils  sank  dim, 
and  dimmer,  fading,  one  by  one  ;  a  single 
spark  lingered,  it  wavered  a  moment,  and 
vanished  into  night. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


MAIDA  S  NUPTIALS. 

some  time  after  Lenox  had  gone 
there  was  much  excitement  at  the  Cap- 
ucines.  But  gradually  the  excitement  wore 
itself  out,  as  excitement  always  does.  Bac 
carat  for  that  night,  at  least,  had  lost  its  al 
lurement.  The  habitues  dispersed,  some  to 
other  clubs,  some  to  their  homes,  and  soon 
the  great  rooms  were  deserted  by  all,  save 
one  deaf  man,  who,  undisturbed  by  the  com 
motion,  had  given  himself  up  to  the  task  of 
memorizing  Sarcey's  feuilleton. 

Among  the  earliest  to  leave  was  Mr.  In- 
coul.  "  Come,"  he  said  to  Blydenburg,  "you 
have  seen  enough  for  one  evening,"  and  Bly 
denburg  got  into  his  coat  and  followed  his 
companion  to  the  street.  They  walked  some 
distance  before  either  of  them  spoke,  but 
when  they  reached  the  hotel  at  which  Bly 
denburg  was  stopping,  that  gentleman  halted 
at  an  adjacent  lamp-post. 

"I   must  say,  Incoul,"  he  began,  "and   I 


MR.  INCOUL' S  MISAin'ENTURE.    2OJ 

hope  you  will  take  it  very  kindly — I  must 
say  that  I  think  you  might  have  left  that 
matter  for  some  one  else  to  discover.  Why, 
hang  it  all  !  Leigh  is  a  friend  of  your  wife's  ; 
you  know  all  his  people  ;  to  you  the  money 
was  nothing.  Really,  Incoul,  damn  me  if  I 
don't  think  it  hard-hearted.  I  don't  care 
that  for  what  those  frog-eaters  say  ;  the  cards 
you  said  were  marked,  don't  weigh  with  me 
in  the  least;  no,  not  an  atom;  it  is  my  opinion 
that  the  young  man  was  just  as  innocent  as 
a  child  unborn.  No,  sir,  you  can't  make  me 
believe  that  he — that  he — I  hate  to  say  the 
•word — that  he  cheated.  Why,  man  alive  !  I 
had  my  eyes  on  him  the  whole  time.  A  better- 
looking  fellow  never  breathed,  and  he  just 
chucked  out  the  cards  one  after  another 
without  so  much  as  looking  at  them;  it 
seemed  to  me  that  he  did  n't  care  a  rap 
whether  he  won  or  lost.  I  put  down  a  louis 
or  two  myself,  and  he  never  noticed  it  ;  he 
left  the  whole  thing  to  the  croupier,  and  now 
that  I  come  to  think  of  it — 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Mr.  Incoul  interrupted, 
"  I  am  sorry  myself." 

"  Well  then  I  '11  be  shot  if  you  look  so. 
Good  night  to  you,"  and  with  that  Blyden- 
burg  stamped  up  to  the  hotel,  rang  the  bell, 
and  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 


204     MR.  INCO  UU  .V  J//.V.  /  D  VEN  TURE. 

Mr.  Incoul  walked  on.  The  annoyance  of 
his  friend  affected  him  like  a  tonic ;  he  con 
tinued  his  way  refreshed.  Presently  he 
reached  a  cab  stand.  The  clock  marked 
11.50.  He  had  other  duties,  and  he  let  him 
self  into  an  Urbaine  and  told  the  man  to 
drive  to  the  Pare  Monceau.  On  arriving  he 
tossed  a  coin  to  the  cabby  and  entered  the 
house. 

In  the  vestibule  a  footman  started  from  a 
nap.  Mr.  Incoul  went  up  to  the  floor  above 
and  waited,  the  door  ajar.  For  a  little  space 
he  heard  the  man  moving  about,  whispering 
to  a  fellow  footman.  But  soon  the  whisper 
ing  ceased.  Evidently  the  men  had  gone. 
Assured  of  this,  he  opened  a  drawer  and 
took  from  it  a  steel  instrument,  one  that  in 
certain  respects  resembled  a  key ;  the  haft, 
however,  was  unusually  large,  the  end  was 
not  blunt  but  hollow,  yet  fashioned  like  a 
pincer,  and  the  projecting  tongue  which, 
in  the  case  of  an  ordinary  key  serves  to  lock 
and  unlock,  was  absent.  This  he  put  in  his 
pocket.  He  went  out  in  the  hall  and 
listened  again.  The  house  was  very  quiet. 
He  made  sure  that  the  footmen  had  really 
gone,  and  walking  on  tip-toe  to  his  wife's 
door,  rapped  ever  so  noiselessly. 

"Is  it  you,  Harmon?"  he  heard  her  ask. 


MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE.     205 

Had  he  wished  he  h;ul  no  time  to  answer.  A 
key  turned  in  the  lock,  the  door  was  opened, 
and  before  him  Maida  stood,  smiling  a  silent 
welcome  to  his  first  visit  to  her  room. 

As  he  entered  and  closed  the  door  her  lips 
parted  ;  she  would  have  spoken,  but  something 
in  his  face  repelled  her ;  the  smile  fell  from 
her  face  and  the  words  remained  unuttered. 

He  stood  a  moment  rubbing  his  hands 
frigidly,  as  were  he  cold,  yet  the  room  was 
not  chilly.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  grate, 
but  two  gas  fixtures  gave  out  sufficient  heat 
to  warm  it  unassisted.  Then  presently  he 
looked  at  her.  She  had  thrown  herself  on  a 
lounge  near  the  hearth,  and  was  certainly 
most  fair  to  see.  Her  white  gown  had  been 
replaced  by  one  of  looser  cut ;  her  neck  and 
arms  were  no  longer  bare,  but  one  foot  shod 
in  fur  that  the  folds  of  the  skirt  left  visible 
was  stockingless  and  the  wonder  of  her  hair 
was  unconfined. 

He  found  a  chair  and  seated  himself  before 
her.  "  Madam,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  am  here 
at  your  request." 

The  girl  started  as  were  she  stung. 

"You  were  obliging  enough  this  evening 
to  inform  me  that  we  had  come  into  our  own. 
What  is  it  ?"  His  eyebrows  were  raised  and 
about  his  thin  lips  was  just  the  faintest  ex- 


206     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

pression  of  contempt.  "  What  is  it  into  which 
we  have  come  ?" 

Maida  grew  whiter  than  the  whitest  er 
mine  ;  she  moved  her  hand  as  would  she  an 
swer,  but  he  motioned  her  to  be  silent. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  he  continued  in  his 
measured  way,  "and  you  will  pardon  me  if 
the  telling  is  long.  Before  it  was  my  privi 
lege  to  make  your  acquaintance  I  was  not,  as 
you  know,  a  bachelor  ;  my  wife  " — and  he  ac 
centuated  the  possessive  pronoun  as  had  he 
had  but  one — "  was  to  me  very  dear.  When  I 
lost  her,  I  thought  at  first  there  was  nothing 
left  me,  but  with  time  I  grew  to  believe  that 
life  might  still  be  livable.  It  is  easy  for  you  to 
understand  that  in  my  misfortune  I  was  not 
dogmatic.  I  knew  that  no  one  is  perfect,  and 
I  felt  that  if  my  wife  had  seemed  perfection 
to  me  it  was  because  we  understood  and  loved 
one  another.  Then,  too,  as  years  passed  I 
found  my  solitude  very  tedious.  I  was,  it  is 
true,  no  longer  young,  but  I  was  not  what  the 
world  has  agreed  to  call  old  ;  and  I  thought 
that  among  the  gracious  women  whom  I 
knew  it  might  be  possible  for  me  to  find  one 
who  would  consent  to  dispel  the  solitude, 
and  who  might  perhaps  be  able  to  bring  me 
some  semblance  of  my  former  happiness.  It 
was  under  these  conditions  that  I  met  you. 


.I/A'.  INCOULS  MlSADVEXTrRi:.      207 

You  remember  what  followed.  I  saw  that 
you  were  beautiful,  more  so,  indeed,  than  my 
wife,  and  I  imagined  that  you  were  honest 
and  self-respecting — in  fact,  a  girl  destined 
to  become  a  noble  woman.  It  was  then  that 
I  ventured  to  address  you.  You  told  me 
of  your  poverty  ;  I  begged  you  to  share 
the  money  which  was  mine  ;  you  told  me 
that  you  did  not  love  me.  I  answered 
that  I  would  wait.  I  was  glad  to  share  the 
money  with  you.  I  was  willing  to  wait.  I 
knew  that  you  would  adorn  riches  ;  I  believed 
that  I  could  win  your  love,  and  I  felt  that 
the  winning  would  be  pleasant.  I  even  ad 
mired  you  for  the  agreement  which  you  sug 
gested.  I  thought  it  could  not  come  from 
any  one  not  wholly  refined  and  mistress  of 
herself.  In  short,  believing  in  your  frank- 
I  offered  you  what  I  had  to  give.  In 
return  what  did  I  ask?  The  opportunity  to 
be  \vith  you,  the  opportunity  of  winning  your 
affection  and  therewith  a  little  trust,  a  little 
confidence  and  the  proper  keeping  of  my 
name.  Surely  I  was  not  extravagant  in  my 
demands.  And  you,  for  all  your  frankness, 
omitted  to  tell  me  the  one  thing  essential : 
you  omitted  to  tell  me — " 

"  Do  not  say  it,"  the  girl  wailed  ;  "  do  not 
say  it."     The  tears  were  falling,  her  form  was 


208    MR.  INCQUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

rocked  with  sobs.  She  was  piteous  before 
him  who  knew  not  what  pity  was. 

He  had  risen  and  she  crouched  as  though 
she  feared  he  had  risen  to  strike  her. 

"Of  your  lover  whom  I  caught  to-night 
cheating  at  cards." 

He  had  struck  her  indeed.  She  looked  up 
through  her  tears  astonished  at  the  novelty 
of  the  blow,  and  yet  still  she  did  not  seem  to 
understand.  She  stared  at  him  vacantly  as 
though  uncertain  of  the  import  of  his  words. 

"Of  your  lover,"  he  repeated  ;  "the  black- 
leg." 

She  rose  from  her  seat.  She  was  trem 
bling  from  head  to  foot.  To  support  herself 
she  stretched  a  hand  to  the  mantel  and 
clutching  it,  she  steadied  herself.  Then, 
still  looking  him  in  the  face,  she  said  husk 
ily,  "You  tell  me  Lenox  Leigh  cheated  at 
cards  ?  It  is  not  true  !" 

"  He  is  your  lover,  then  !"  hissed  Incoul, 
and  into  his  green,  dilated  eyes  there  came  a 
look  of  such  hideous  hate  that  the  girl  shrank 
back. 

In  her  fear  she  held  out  her  arms  as  though 
to  shield  herself  from  him,  and  screamed 
aloud.  "  You  are  going  to  kill  me  !"  she  cried. 

"  Be  quiet,"  he  answered,  "  you  will  wake 
the  house." 


.  JNCOL'I.'S  MISADVENTURE.     209 

I»ut  the  order  was  needless.  The  girl  fell 
backwards  on  the  lounge.  He  stood  and 
looked  at  her  without  moving.  Presently  she 
moaned  ;  her  eyes  opened  and  her  sobs  broke 
out  afresh.  And  still  he  gazed  as  though  in 
the  enjoyment  of  a  hope  fulfilled. 

"  Now  get  to  your  bed,"  he  said,  at  last. 

His  eyes  searched  the  room.  On  a  table 
was  a  pink  box  labeled  bromide  of  potas 
sium,  and  filled  with  powders  wrapped  in  tin 
foil.  He  opened  and  smelled  of  one  and  then 
opened  another  and  poured  the  contents  of 
both  into  a  glass  which  he  half  filled  with 
water. 

"  Drink  it,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed  dumbly.  The  tears  fell  into 
the  glass  as  she  drank.  But  in  a  little  while 
her  sobs  came  only  intermittently.  "  I  will 
sleep  now,"  she  murmured,  helplessly,  "  I 
think  I  will  sleep  now."  Yet  still  he  waited. 
Her  head  had  fallen  far  back  on  the  sofa,  her 
hair  drooped  about  her  shoulders,  her  lips 
were  gray. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  to 
the  bed.  One  of  her  furred  slippers  dropped 
on  the  way,  the  other  he  took  from  her.  The 
foot  it  held  hardly  filled  his  palm.  He 
loosened  her  gown.  He  would  have  taken  it 
off  but  he  feared  to  awake  her.  Was  she 


2io     MR.  INCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

really  asleep,  he  wondered.  He  peered 
down  at  her  eyelids  but  they  did  not  move. 
Surely  she  slept.  A  door  that  led  to  a  dress 
ing-room  was  open.  He  closed  it.  The 
chair  in  which  he  had  sat  he  restored  to  its 
original  position.  Then  he  turned  out  the 
gas.  On  each  of  the  fixtures  his  fingers 
rested  the  fraction  of  a  minute  longer  than 
was  necessary.  He  groped  to  the  door, 
opened  it  noiselessly  and  listened.  There 
was  no  sound.  The  house  was  still  as  a 
tomb.  He  closed  the  door  behind  him  and 
drawing  the  nameless  instrument  from  his 
pocket  he  inserted  it  carefully  in  the  keyhole, 
gave  it  a  quick  turn  and  went  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

MR.   INCOUL    GOES    OVER    THE    ACCOUNTS. 


T^HERE  is  a  saying  to  the  effect  that  any 
A  one  who  walks  long  enough  in  front  of 
the  Grand  Hotel  will,  in  the  course  of  time, 
encounter  all  his  acquaintances,  past,  present 
ami  to  be.  On  the  second  day  after  the  din 
ner  in  the  Pare  Monceau,  Mr.  Blydenburg 
crossed  the  boulevard.  It  was  an  unpleasant 
afternoon  of  the  kind  which  is  frequent  in  the 
early  winter :  the  air  was  damp  and  pene 
trating,  and  the  sky  presented  that  unre 
lieved  and  cheerless  pallor  of  which  Paris  is 
believed  to  be  the  unique  possessor.  Mr. 
IJlydenburg's  spirits  were  affected  ;  he  was  ill 
at  ease  and  inclined  to  attribute  his  depres 
sion  to  the  rawness  of  the  air  and  the  blanched 
sky  above  him.  He  was  to  leave  Paris  on 
the  morrow,  and  he  felt  that  he  would  be  glad 
to  shake  its  mud  from  his  feet.  He  was  then 
on  the  way  to  his  banker's  to  close  an  account, 
ami  as  he  trudged  along,  with  an  umbrella 
under  his  arm  and  his  trousers  turned  up,  in 


212     MR.  INCOUL' S  MISADVENTURE. 

spite  of  the  prospect  of  departure  he  was 
not  in  a  contented  or  satisfied  frame  of  mind. 
For  many  hours  previous  he  had  cross- 
questioned  himself  in  regard  to  Incoul.  He 
knew  that  in  speaking  out  his  mind  he  had 
done  right,  yet  he  could  not  help  perceiving 
that  right-doing  and  outspokenness  are  not 
always  synonymous  with  the  best  breed 
ing.  Truth  certainly  is  attractive,  particu 
larly  to  him  who  tells  it,  but  one  has  to  be 
hospitably  inclined  to  receive  it  at  all  times 
as  a  welcome  guest.  Beside,  he  told  himself, 
Incoul  was  a  man  to  whom  remonstrance 
was  irksome,  he  chafed  at  it  no  matter  what 
its  supporting  truths  might  be.  Perhaps 
then  it  would  have  been  better  had  he  held 
his  tongue.  Incoul  was  his  oldest  friend,  he 
could  not  afford  to  lose  him  ;  at  his  time  of 
life  the  making  of  new  ones  was  difficult. 
And  yet  did  he  seek  him  in  a  conciliatory 
mood  it  would  be  tantamount  to  acknowledg 
ing  that  Incoul  had  been  in  the  right,  and  the 
more  he  thought  the  matter  over  the  more 
convinced  he  became  that  Incoul  was  in  the 
wrong.  Leigh,  he  could  have  sworn,  was 
innocent.  The  charge  that  had  been  brought 
against  him  was  enough  to  make  a  mad  dog 
blush.  It  was  preposterous  on  the  face  of  it. 
Then,  too,  the  young  man  had  been  given  no 


.I/A'.  I\COCi:s  MISADVENTURE.     213 

opportunity  to  defend  himself.  The  honest- 
hearted  gentleman  did  not  make  it  plain  to 
his  own  mind  how  Leigh  could  have  defended 
himself  even  had  the  opportunity  been 
offered,  but  he  waived  objections  ;  his  faith 
was  firm.  He  was  enough  of  a  logician  to 
understand  that  circumstantial  evidence, 
however  strong,  is  not  unrebuttable  proof, 
and  he  assured  himself,  unless  the  young 
man  confessed  his  guilt,  that  he  at  least 
would  never  believe  it. 

He  was  not,  therefore,  in  a  contented  or 
satisfied  frame  of  mind  ;  he  was  irresolute 
how  to  act  to  Incoul  ;  he  did  not  wish  to  lose 
an  old  friend  and  he  was  physically  unable 
to  be  unjust  to  a  new  one.  After  crossing 
the  boulevard  he  passed  the  Grand  Hotel 
and  just  as  he  left  the  wide  portals  behind 
him  he  saw  Mr.  Wainwaring  with  whom  two 
days  before  he  had  dined  in  the  Pare  Mon- 
ceau.  He  bowed  and  would  have  continued 
his  way,  but  Mr.  Wainwaring  stopped  him. 

"  You  have  heard,  have  you  not  ?"  he  asked 
excitedly,  "  you  have  heard  about  Mrs.  In 
coul  ?" 

"  Heard  what  ?" 

"  It  appears  that  on  going  to  bed  on  Sun 
day  night  she  turned  the  gas  on  instead  of 
turning  it  off.  They  smelled  the  gas  in  the 


214     MR-  INCO  UL'S  MI  SAD  VENTURE. 

hall  and  tried  to  get  into  the  room,  but  the 
door  was  locked  ;  finally  they  broke  it  down. 
They  found  her  unconscious  though  still 
breathing ;  they  worked  over  her  for  five 
hours,  but  it  was  no  use." 

Blydenburg  grounded  his  umbrella  on  the 
pavement  for  support.  "  Good  God  !"  he 
muttered,  "  Good  God  !" 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Wainwaring  continued,  "  it 
is  terrible!  A  sweeter  girl  never  lived.  My 
daughter  knew  her  intimately;  she  went  there 
this  morning  to  see  her  and  learned  of  it  at 
the  door.  I  have  just  been  up  there  myself. 
I  thought  Incoul  might  see  me,  but  he 
couldn't.  Utterly  prostrated  I  suppose.  I 
can  understand  that.  We  all  know  how  de 
voted  he  was.  He  will  never  get  over  it — 
never." 

Blydenburg  still  held  to  his  umbrella  for 
support. 

"  I  must  go  there,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  go  by  all  means  ;  he  will  see  you,  of 
course.  Poor  Incoul  !  I  am  heartily  sorry  for 
him.  After  all,  wealth  is  not  happiness,  is  it?" 

At  this  platitude  Blydenburg  would  have 
gone,  but  Mr.  Wainwaring  had  more  news  to 
impart.  "  You  know  about  young  Leigh, 
Mrs.  Manhattan's  brother,  don't  you?"  he 
continued. 


AfR.  INCOUi:*  MISADVENTURE.     2/j 

Blydenburg  looked  down  at  his  umbrella 
in  a  weary  way. 

"  Yes,  I  was  there,"  he  answered,  "but  I 
don't  believe  it." 

"Oh,  you  mean  that  affair  at  the  club. 
Well,  it  appears  that  it  is  true.  From  what  I 
make  out  of  the  papers,  he  went  to  his  hotel 
afterwards,  and  took  a  dose  of  morphine. 
It  was  his  only  way  out  of  it.  I  couldn't 
bear  him,  could  you  ?" 

Blydenburg  nodded  vacantly.  "  He  must 
have  been  guilty." 

"As  to  that  there  is  no  doubt.  De  la 
Deche  says  it  is  a  wonder  he  was  not  caught 
before.  Well,  good  day ;  tell  Incoul  how 
profoundly  grieved  we  all  are.  Good  day." 

Presently  Blydenburg  found  himself  in  a 
cab.  He  was  a  trifle  dazed  at  what  he  had 
heard.  He  was  not  brilliant  ;  he  was  very 
tiresome  at  times,  the  sort  of  a  man  that  likes 
big  words  and  small  dictionaries,  yet  some 
how  he  was  lovable  and  more  human  than 
many  far  cleverer  than  he.  To  his  own  mis 
fortune  he  had  a  heart,  and  in  disasters  like 
these  it  bled.  He  would  have  crossed  the 
Continent  tobring  a  moment's  pleasure  to  the 
girl  that  had  l»een  asphyxiated  in  her  bed, 
and  he  would  have  given  his  daughter  to  the 
man  who  had  been  choked  down  to  the  grave. 


216     MR.  IXCOUL'S  MISADVENTURE. 

Then,  too,  as  nearly  as  he  could  see,  he  had 
wronged  Incoul  and  Incoul  was  in  great 
grief.  As  the  Urbaine  rolled  on,  his  thoughts 
did  not  grow  nimbler.  In  his  head  was  a 
full,  aching  sensation  ;  he  felt  benumbed,  and 
raised  the  collar  of  his  coat.  Soon  the  cab 
stopped  before  the  house  in  the  Pare  Mon- 
ceau.  He  had  no  little  set  speech  prepared  ; 
he  wanted  merely  to  take  his  friend  by  the 
hand  and  let  him  feel  his  sympathy  unspoken, 
but  when  the  footman  came  in  answer  to  his 
ring,  he  was  told  that  Mr.  Incoul  could  see 
no  one.  He  went  back  to  his  cab.  It  had 
begun  to  rain,  but  he  did  not  notice  it,  and 
left  the  window  open. 

As  the  cab  rolled  down  the  street  again, 
Mr.  Incoul,  who  had  been  occupied  with  the 
morning  paper,  sent  for  the  courier. 

"Karl,"  he  said,  when  the  man  appeared, 
"  I  will  go  over  your  accounts." 


THE    END. 


PARIS,  January-March,  1887. 


PUBLICATIONS 

OF 

BENJAMIN    ^    3— 


No-    744    BROADWAY 


NEW    YORK 


SUMMER  T{E/1T>ING. 

MR-  INCOUL-S  M'SADVENTURE. 

BY  EDGAR  SALTUS, 

Author  of  "Baltac:  A  Study,"  "  The  Anatomy  of  Negation?' 
"The  Philosophy  of  Disenchantment"  etc. 

umo,  cloth.     Finely  printed  by  Gilliss  Brothers  &  Turnure. 
Price,  $1.00. 


A  norcl  which  it  sure  to  be  condemned  by  erery  ope  who  prefers 
platitude  to  paradox,  or  tea  and  toast  to  truffles  and  red  pepper. 


SOCIETY  VERSE  = 

BY 

AMERICAN  WRITERS. 

Edited  by  ERNEST  DE  LANCEY  PIERSON. 

10.  cloth,  uncut  edges,  gilt  tops,  with  ornamental  and  unique  design  on  front 
corcr.    Elegantly  printed  on  fine  paper  by  the  De  Vinnc  Press. 

Price,  $1.25. 


T^HIS  collection  of  about  eighty  poems  represents  the  best  rert  de 
tocitte  and  dainty  lyrics  which  have  appeared  in  this  country. 
It  is  virtually  the  first  representative  collection  of  vert  de  societt  by 
American  writers  ever  published.  Some  of  the  contributions  appear 
for  the  first  time  in  this  volume,  and  among  the  forty. three  writers 
represented  are  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  H.  C.  Bunner,  Helen  Gray 
Cone,  Robert  Grant,  Clinton  Scollard,  Oscar  Fay  Adams,  Walter 
learned,  Bessie  Chandler,  Harrison  Robertson,  Charles  Henry 
Luderi,  Ruth  Hall,  A.  E.  Watrous,  Samuel  Minturn  Peck,  and  Louise 
Imogenc  Guiney. 


FIRST    EDITION   OF   AN    ORIGINAL   WORK 
BY   LEIGH    HUNT. 


BOOK  OF  THE  SONNET. 

Comprising  an  Essay  on  the  Cultivation,  History  and  Varieties  of 
the  species  of  poem  called  the  Sonnet,  with  a  selection  of  English 
Sonnets,  with  copious  notes,  now  first  published  from  the  original 
MSS.  of  Leigh  Hunt.  An  Essay  on  American  Sonnets  and  Son 
neteers,  with  a  Selection  of  Sonnets,  by  S.  Adams  Lee. 

LARGE    PAPER    EDITION   OF   ONE    HUNDRED    NUMBERED 

COPIES,  PRINTED  FROM  TYPE  IN  1867,  BUT 

NOW  FIRST  PUBLISHED. 

Illustrated  with  Two  Finely  Etched  Portraits  from  Rart  Prints. 


Two  Vols.,  8vo,  Boards,  Uncut  Edges,  $6.00 


Mr.  X.  H.  Stoddard  says : 

"As  a  collection  of  Sonnets,  it  is  not  only  the  fullest  ever  made,  but  by  far  the 
best,  even  excelling  the  dainty  little  collection  by  Dyce,  .  .  .  and  Hunt's 
exhaustive  anil  every  way  admirable  introductory  essay  is,  after  all,  much  the  best 
part  of  the  work.  Its  pages  are  steeped  in  thoughtful  scholarship  on  this  special 
theme,  and  sparkle  with  genial  and  veracious  criticism." 

Mr.  W.  D.  Howells  says : 

"  The  Essay  is  printed  for  the  first  time,  and  it  was  written  in  Hunt's  old  age  ; 
but  it  is  full  of  light-heartedness,  and  belongs  in  feeling  to  a  period  at  least  as 
early  as  that  which  produced  the  'Stories  from  the  Italian  Poets.'  It  is  one  of 
those  studies  in  which  he  was  always  happy,  for  it  keeps  him  chiefly  in  Italy  ;  and 
when  it  takes  him  from  Italy,  it  only  brings  him  into  the  Italian  air  of  English 
sonnetry, — a  sort  of  soft  Devonshire  coast,  bordering  the  ruggeder  native  poetry 
of  the  south." 

The  London  Saturday  Review  says : 

"  The  genuine  aroma  of  literature  abounds  in  every  page  of  Leigh  Hunt's 
delicious  Kss.iy  on  the  Sonnet.  His  mind  shows  itself  imbued  with  a  rich  knowl 
edge  of  his  subject,  and  this,  illuminated  by  the  evidence  of  a  thorough  and  un 
affected  liking  for  it,  makes  him  irresistible." 


H?  The  above  work  was  published  by  William  Evarts  Kenjamin 
before  the  formation  of  the  present  firm.  As  the  edition  is  almost 
exhausted  the  price  has  been  advanced  from  f 5.00  to  $6.00. 

iv. 


SHAKESPEARE  IN  FACT  AND 
IN  CRITICISM. 

BY 

APPLETON    MORGAN,    A.M.,    LL.B., 

President  of  the  New  York  Shakesf>erean  Society  ;  Author  of 

"The  Law  of  Literature,"  "The  Shakespearean  Myth," 

"Some  Shakespearean  Commentators"  " I'enus 

and  Adonis,"  "  A  Study  of  Warwickshire 

Dialect,"  etc.,  etc. 


iamo,  cloth,  uncut  edges.     Ornately  printed  on   fine    paper 
by  the  De  Vinne  Press.     Price,  $1.50. 

THE  work    consists  of    nine  essays  under    the    following 
titles: 

I.— SHAKESPEARE  AND  HIS  ESTHETIC  CRITICS. 
II.— MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  SONNETS. 
Ill  —WHOSE  SONNETS? 

IV.— SOMETHING  TOUCHING  THE  LORD  HAMLET. 
V.— SIR  WILLIAM  D'AVENANT  AND  THE  FIRST  SHAKES- 

PEARKAN  REVIVAL. 

VI. — LAW  AND  MEDICINE  IN  THE  PLAYS. 
VII.— QUEEN  ELI/ABETH'S  SHARE  IN  mi    MERRY  WIVES 

OF  WINDSOR. 

VIII.— THE   GROWTH    AND   VICISSITUDES   OF    A    SHAKES 
PEAREAN  PLAY. 
IX.— HAVE  WE  A  SHAKESPEARE  AMONG  us  ? 

Mr.  Morgan's  line  of  Shakespeare  study  being  out  of  the 
beaten  track  of  commentary  and  comment,  and  his  "The 
Shakespearean  Myth"  or  "William  Shakespeare  and  Circum 
stantial  Evidence,"  having  attracted  unusual  attention,  as  well 
in  England  as  in  the  United  States  and  Germany— in  which 
uned  countries  two  editions  have  been  exhausted— the 
publishers  feel  that  a  new  volume  from  the  same  pen,  and  em 
bodying  the  HMl  .irsof  further  and  riper  study  from 
Mi.  Morgan's  own  standpoint,  but  with  better  lights,  will  be 
welcomed  with  interest  by  students  of  Shakespeare. 


Messrs.  BENJAMIN  <5r»  BELL  beg  to  announce  that  by  special 

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American  Market  on  the  FOURTH  EDITION, 

Revised   and  greatly    enlarged,    of 

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The  Solace  and  Companionship  of  Books, 

Selected   from  Writers  of  every  age,  from  Solomon  and  Cicero  to 
Carlyle,  Emerson  and  Ruskin. 

BY 

ALEXANDER     IRELAND, 

Author  of  "Memoir  and  Recollections  of  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson"  &*c. 


tamo,  pp.  512,  cloth,  gilt  tops,  uncut    edges.     Price,   $1.50. 


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nil 


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COLLECTORS- 


A  BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  FIRST  EDITIONS. 

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tion,  of  every  book  written  or  edited  by  HENRY  WADSWORTH 
LONGFELLOW.  It  is  of  particular  value  to  collectors,  librarians 
and  booksellers,  because  it  describes  the  anonymous  works 
and  the  text-books  published  when  LONGFELLOW  was  a  pro 
fessor  at  Bowdoin  College. 


"Book  colltctors  ktrve  recently  devoted  increased  atten 
tion  to  making  up  sett  of  the  first  editions  of  leading 
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H'hittitr,  Holmes  and  many  others,  all  hare  their 
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ing  this  ivant,  so  far  as  the  tuorks  of  Longfellow  are 
ied,  this  bibliography  is  modestly  offertd."—  EXTRACT 

PROM  PREPACK. 


07"  Tbi»  book  »»,  first  published   t.y  WILLIAM    HVARTS   BBHJAMIN 
fore   the   form»tion   of  the   present  firm. 


THE 

POETS  AND  POETRY 

OF   AMERICA. 

A   Satire   by  "  LAVANTH,"   reprinted   from   the   original,   published 
in  Philadelphia  in  1847.     With  an  introductory  argu 
ment  by  GEOFFREY  QUARLKS,  to  show 
that  it  was  written 

BY 

EDGAR     ALLAN     POE. 


i2mo,  paper  cover,  50  cents. 


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In  Preparation— to  be  Issued  in  the  Fall, 

A    SELECTION 


FROM    THE 


POETRY  OF   LEIGH   ]-[UNT. 

With  a  prefatory  sketch  and  a  reproduction  of  a  portrait  in  water 
colors 

BY    SIR    DAVID    WILKIE. 

Hitherto   unpublished  and  now  in  the  possession  of  the  publishers. 


To  BE  DAINTILY  PRINTED  IN  A  IZMO  VOLUME. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


REC'D  LD 

MAY281S59 

[62: 

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" 


'68.4 


.OAN~1 

'LI  6  19684. 


'68-fJPM 


LD  'Jl.\    B(H 


General  Library- 
University  of  California 

Berk  § 


